He sat vacant in his stall, but the place seemed owner-less, I looked up and exchanged a tattered a fiver for four plastic bags of machine change, 2p - a cold smell of brass copper, 5p nickel and two large bags of 10p sliver that smelt Sonic blue.
Penny arcade with its fine skim of dust covering the greasy machines - techno beats bleeps - boom - game over - filled the place with pixel pop - joy.
My hands thumb the grills for dropped change with a titled nudge - 'Pac-men' eating themselves on sight with glee. 'The Twisted Wheel', 'Turismo - 'Kartoon-Kick Boxers', a constant stream.
Constant scream of fruit machines and an unintelligible mix - beat - em-ups - out of synch. I fell into juvenile adoration, almost religious. Joystick joy, 'Street's of Rage'.
Sega! Sega! Sega!