The Arcade Ate All My Quarters and I Thank It

The arcade was loud, dark, and smelled faintly of popcorn and carpet cleaner — and it was the best place on earth.

You walked in with a pocket full of quarters, and that was your whole budget, your whole plan, and your whole afternoon. You picked a machine, fed it a quarter, and played until the screen said GAME OVER in big, unforgiving letters. Then you moved on to the next one.

There were regulars. The kid who could beat Pac-Man without blinking. The group crowded around Street Fighter, watching somebody who actually knew the combos. And you, standing on tiptoe to see over the machine, waiting your turn.

You always left broke, and you always went back.

What was your arcade game — the one that ate all your quarters and you still loved it?