the ninth



Adam missed those 16-bit glory days. Gripping joy out of sticks and smashing A/Bs. Now his daily screens and keys were dull figures and pre-signed emails under the threat of boredom—which he was. Antsy to spin in his office chair and let his tie sail. But to avoid the unprofessional eye he sat straight backed, fingers tapping the keyboard for the clack without actually typing. When the ding came in. An email he should get into. So he pressed ctrl plus + + + + + until he couldn’t + anymore, the screen taken over by distorted, single colored squares. He rolled back and saw the bigger picture, the desk, the cubicle, the tiled ceiling. This world was pixels coming at him. But these days, here, there was no glory. He spun, leveling up, and left for sharper graphics.

Donald Ryan writes. @dryanswords

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