Sometimes, when I write something, it changes so much that a perfectly good collection of words becomes unnecessary. Most of the time, I file it away for a later date, but this time, I want to share it. People of a Certain Age can probably appreciate it.
Obligatory Elderly Gaming Recollection
There was something magical about video arcades, and it defied the logic of those capitalistic quarter-munching machines. Lots of people probably don’t care, but the experience was special for me. Recalling just why is something more difficult to identify.
The scent was composed of a concoction of sweat, perfume, popcorn, and the occasional illicit herb. This is not to ignore the base of accumulated stains caked into the low-pile carpet. Mix those with the evocative whiff of the pressboard, plastic moulding, and adhesive that formed each of the cabinets. 
The sights the soft spotlights around, but never pointing at, the upright games, contrasting the rows of glowing squares in our focus. Thank god for the darkness, too, because those low-pile carpets were garish as hell. They went great with the crude wall-art designs that the owner got a friend of a friend to paint for payment in pizza and beer.
Gluing these impressions together was the noise of two dozen machines buzzing in attract or play mode, mixing with the cornball music, and glazed with the conversation of customers. This stimuli drags me sharply backwards in time. I swear, when I hear even the hint of those sounds, my hand involuntarily and reflexively moves, gunslinger-like, to my front pocket. I can’t tell you the ingredients in soup, but I can detect a hint of Centipede or a dash of Joust in what must seem a nerve-wracking mess of digital noise.
no better way to put it . kudos .