The punches come swift, fast, hard. Hydraulic jacks are twigs compared to this kind of pain. Roof rafters falling on your head would hurt less. Good thing he's dealing and not taking, he thinks. And good thing this is virtual reality.
Sam takes his fists from the dangling boxing gloves and rubs his arms, exhausted. Slumping towards the change machine, he tears a strip of tickets from the box and walks towards the ticket counter.
5,000 for the PlayStation?! He eyes his stash.
"Kid, you know you could just get a job or save up your allowance... or ask your parents to buy you one for Christmas, right?" The arcade keep prattles. He is 45, bald as a tire, an Italian plumber nursing a rotund gut he must have been born with.
"Sure," says Sam, finger the end of a long, taped together roll of tickets protruding from his backpack, "but that wouldn't be nearly as much fun, would it?"
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6 years ago
You deleted your facebook! I wrote a note about you and you weren't around to tag! (Well... to be fair, the note wasn't entirely about you. It's about my new story blog, but naturally, you were mentioned. Probably because I miss you so much. I'm sorry I didn't call you back tonight. I worked till 9pm my time since I spoke to the youth. I'll try to call you tomorrow but I'll be packing to leave for FL the next day so we'll see. I miss you. We need to be friends again.)
ReplyDeleteThis is Katie, by the way. I'm sure you guessed that already.