Chiptune Medley


  The arcade was a smoke-filled mess of bleeding neon and flashing displays, all to the tune of an intricate mix of bleeps and bloops, the countless chiptunes merging into one unrecognizable yet somehow melodic eight-bit arrangement. There were no dance pads here, no guns protruding from the cabinets, no claw machines. It was a world were classics ruled. Pacman and his wife were king and queen, Donkey Kong and Jr. their wise and honourable counsel. Pitfall was the jester of the court and before them all the loyal and endless subjects of Xevious, Galaga and Centipede. A Space Invaders table sat amidst it all, intimidating in its spotlight.

  It’s paradise. Mecca. Heaven. I head over to the change machine – retro in its own right – and get ten dollars worth of quarters. The only bad thing about this establishment is the sheer excess of choice – to what do I distribute my wealth of skill (and coins) first? Tutankham – an old friend – calls from across the arcade. I spot its familiar demo playing to itself – poorly – and begin to make my way over there. I was a golden god back in college. The leaderboards belonged to me and me alone. I was the only tomb raider worth listing. Perhaps it was time to reclaim my throne.


~ by Joseph Blame on April 9, 2011.

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