Page 116 of Glitched Play

A little boy jumps every time his father defeats another alien.

"This..." I whisper.

"...was the beginning." Witt's voice carries a softness I've never heard before.

"When people think about gaming now, they think about billion-dollar studios and virtual reality." He walks beside one cabinet, resting his fingertips lightly against the edge. "But before all of that..."

"...there was this," I say, admiring him and the machines. He’s different here, more like what he was in bed. Eyes bright and an excitement I’ve only seen when he’s proud of me for solving a problem.

"I came here when I was twelve.”

"You did?"

"Dad brought all of us," he states. "I was terrible."

I blink. "You?"

"I kept looking at how the cabinet was built instead of the game."

I laugh. "That sounds exactly like you."

"It annoyed Greyson."

"I'm shocked."

"He said if I analyzed one more joystick, he was leaving me."

"What happened?"

"I analyzed two."

I burst out laughing. "Did he leave?"

"No. He complained loudly for approximately sixteen minutes."

"That also sounds right."

For the next hour we bounce from cabinet to cabinet.

He destroys me at Galaga and I somehow beat him at Pac-Man. He claims it was statistically improbable. I claim he panicked.

"I do not panic."

"You definitely panicked."

"The ghost approached unexpectedly."

"They're all ghosts, Witt."

"They were... aggressive."

I laugh so hard I nearly lose another life.

As we wander deeper into the building, I notice old concept sketches framed on the walls.

The evolution of controllers.

Original advertisements.