Remember the game? Part of the fun of trying to predict the trajectory of the ball of steel, but in the end I might as well give up. You looked at her and she squirted right to left, when you expect to come down here to sob who took back and forth in an eternity of bouncing cross-eyed. Every time he touched a piston concentric Ricochets a triangle, a prominent nipple, a trinket resonant counter in the score was going up and up and up toward the paradise of real men, the record-men of the bar. The figures flowed and you were giving a sense of all that turmoil, to the anxiety of performance, providing water in your ego with the sounds of approval of the flipper. You were in action. Did you know that would not last forever and you could also look like an idiot, but hey, the game went on.
Life is fast, you think that goes in one direction, then bounces elsewhere. Watch as they speed, do not stop, do not be afraid to take an unexpected turn. It looks like a big mess, but you are racking up points, anyway.
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