Sometimes, you just want to take some time away and visit an old friend who kept you company for countless hours those years ago.

So you cancel your after-work plans, grab a roll of quarters from the laundromat jar, and head across town to that hole in the wall that claimed week after week's allowance; to your surprise and delight, it still exists, it is still open, and perhaps most surprisingly, Kevin is still behind the counter.

The last time you saw Kevin he was dangerously thin, covered in acne, and trying desperately to grow a moustache. He tells you he has three kids now, one in college. He looks a good. He says he stopped smoking and started working out after his dad remarried. Good for both of you, you say.

You go in. Many of the machines you remember are gone. Some of the games are the same but are in new, different cabinets; others have been replaced entirely. The crane game is the same (it never seemed to break) and the weird Greek(?) cabinet is exactly where you left it, frozen in time (you and Kyle were the only ones who touched it, and Nina, who you think is an engineer now?). Time Crisis 2 is still there, although the guns are even less gun-like now— ugly plastic cubes with a button on top. The carpet is the same; a can of pop is still a buck.

You set yourself down Where You Always Were and have at it. Quarter after quarter vanishes and with them so does the evening.

You head home, refreshed; company kept.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.