It hits you before you even walk in

Noise.

Not the kind you ran from.

This one’s different. Alive. Flickering.

Lights bouncing off sticky floors.
Coins clinking.
A chorus of winning streaks.

Everything is too much,
and somehow, exactly enough.

Skee-ball lanes calling your name.
Tickets spilling like you’ve struck gold.
Prizes you don’t need
but absolutely must have.

You end up at the air hockey table -

No talking. Just a look.
A challenge, already understood.

The puck drops.

You lean too far over the table,
feet barely touching the ground,
heart racing - 20 seconds left.

The clock blinks.
Faster now. You swing—miss!

AIR HORN.

NO…

But you’re laughing.

Actually laughing.

You grab your ice cream again,
half melted, still perfect.

Pinball lights flash.
No past. No future. Just this

Chaos.
Sugar.
Competition.
Joy.

And for a moment -

Nothing is expected of you,
except to play.