# lofi moaning in sepia time fog a cool cover of tangerine dream's love on a real train by state azure plays in the lab background standing out on the promenade in light september rain they stare out at a distant inlet of the overcast bay watching mad gulls landing on and taking off from dark dirty sand behind them stands a local videographic space arcade a ghost town relic from the 'near-future retro 70s' surviving as there's nothing to do but engage in intense n bit retro computational activities queue a metallic waterfall of noise generated over computational eons by the countless fall of ten pence coinage into well worn slots standing in the arcade by an old machine its wooden cabinet housing turning grey with all the cigarette smoke stands is ir best mate big haired gothman they now play within beast busters by snk corporation clearly noticing how japanese style zombies of old look far better than ones exuded by today's undead aaaa industry today's feisty braindawgs are far too clean looking to be scary or hold any real techno dread big hair pops another member of the flesh eating hordes scrolling across the 45 degree angled screen in ir steady hands is a molded blue plastic light weapon with a raised dragon motif grip outside a researcher watches the dirty rain and distant gulls and unwell wood pigeon sighs they stroll back inside the existentially hot arcade rubbing ir hands together ir name's henry and in ir pockets is a small black box with leads and clips growing from its side device for copying the chip based software of old arcades from wack late nfr 70's playspace establishments by the slow and toxic sea last month they and big hair were scanning playspaces in old brighton most ancient they often serve excellent spicy vegetarian chili burgers down there henry makes ir way through the sweaty crowds bored spoiled brats of middling class holiday makers passing through onto hopefully more sunny cheaper and socially anchored destinations beyond dressed down in light absorbing black henry keeps ir eyes on the sweaty thin green carpeting they already know where big hair is in this establishment maze it's a matter of allowing the body to drift through the bleeping backstreets of tawdry electronic penny amusements events happen at ir own pace around here it's no use trying to impose another faster paced subjective time structure such old spaces consume the still twitching steaming guts of the new alive one is on a tight hypercorporate shinobi research schedule and weird-cool events will occur despite when where or how researchers want them to henry swanson looks up and finds themselves strolling past the arcade owner one mr gregory wallace 63 years old a divorced father of two both offspring live in amerika and are heavily into water ski yoga and designer recreational smartup drug use it might as well be a billion miles away from here in good old endland and they probably like it like that henry: hey how's tricks gregster mr wallace sitting behind ir ironic change here booth reading the l8est edition of the local rag: mumble mumble henry stops at the booth for a moment they've had this exact conversation before but they want more: gee why don't you accidentally drop a molly collect the insurance and leave for warmer climates greg greg: this place used to be called frank's arcades right well we was the mug who took it over from old frank after they tried to light it and went back inside henry: what we thought it belonged to you mr wallace mr wallace: heck do we want with a playspace arcade we're 58 henry: um it's a business isn't it mr wallace: see the freshly polished high end jag parked outside henry looks around: er no mr wallace: exactly we'd rather be fishing on quiet a lake right now than tending this cash bleeding armpit henry: what happened to old frank then greg: they got charged by a fully grown truffle pig on the prison farm and were knocked under a nearby runaway electric lawnmower henry stares: thanks for cheering our day up mr wallace greg: well if your stopped playing stupid arcade machines and took your head out your arts you might feel a bit better and more useful henry: do you regret your life mr wallace greg sighs staring out at the distant bay and half smiles from behind misty pale green eyes: life's a bit naff now but wait until the sun comes out henry: that's a healthy philosophy sir gregory: philosoballs you get to see tight sports tops stroll past on ir way to the daycare center and the uneven pavements make em bounce henry tries to hide ir disgust gregory: go on bog off and go do whatever it is you lazy students do don't you have classes today or what henry: exactly why we're here seeya gregs gregory ruffles ir paper and mumbles: that's mr wallace to you cyber punk henry strolls over to big hair who is now on level seventeen it's getting tough and hair has already wasted a fiver getting this far they see big hair is wearing ir favorite go hard all black do we look like a people person tshirt hair: hey alright mate step up and join the undead slaughter henry: cool got any tens mush hair: naff off we've already spent a fiver on this stupid box henry: hey researcher look we've got the hot black tech ready hair: oh nice what you gonna do with it henry: this time we shouldn't just record the board but hook it up directly to intertubes hair: sweet put this machine on nets now henry flicks a few engineer's switches on the inside and makes it available as an rre real retro experience for anyone online visiting the webspace via remote virtual headup app big hair: sweet as henry: yeah we was thinking of putting this old stuff out online for a while now you know for archival purposed but playing one in real time at its original dislocation would slap hair: so you've modified the box to connect to local bsz biopsychic servers henry: no too difficult for us we got trader j to do it hair: ok sweet so how do we get inside this thing henry: stares with wide eyes of dystopian techno menace it's already inside us our friend hair shivers blasting another deader back into retroactive electro oblivion: we heard that // republic of bob