Page 115 of Glitched Play

"So where are we going?" I ask.

"You'll see."

Cryptic.

I like it.

Austin slowly gives way to a neighborhood filled with old brick buildings painted with colorful murals. Coffee shops spill onto sidewalks. Vinyl record stores sit beside comic book shops. Street musicians play beneath giant oak trees.

Witt pulls into a small parking lot beside a weathered brick building.

A faded neon sign buzzes overhead.

PIXEL PALACE

Established 1977.

My eyes widen. "This place is still open?" I ask.

"It closed."

"Oh."

“But, I bought it."

I look at him. "You... bought an arcade?"

"It was going to be demolished."

"So naturally you purchased the entire building."

"It seemed logical."

I shake my head. "Billionaires are weird."

"I've heard that." His lips lift a little at the corners.

The moment he opens the front door, a chorus of electronic sounds rushes over us.

Beeping.

Digital explosions.

The metallic clink of pinball bumpers.

Triumphant jingles.

The rhythmic click-click-click of joysticks.

Rows of glowing arcade cabinets stretch across polished concrete floors like a museum where every exhibit still works.

Bright reds. Electric blues. Neon greens.

Original hand-painted cabinet artwork wraps around each machine.

Small brass plaques explain the history beside many of them.

A handful of families wander through while grandparents point excitedly at games they played as teenagers. It’s summer and this place is hopping to be so early in the morning.