1.
Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. A travelling object will travel at a uniform speed and force unless it hits another object; this other object will resist the first object and, if fixed, will absorb its energy like-for-like or move in exact proportion to the force of the first - always! Thus Newton. Thus the workings of all moving bodies in the Universe, great and small. But not the very small; for our latter-day Newtons have pondered upon the very small and note an element of unpredictability, of - even - uncertainty!
Planets may behave all well and orderly and nod and wink at each other as they pass each other in their daily and yearly rounds, but deep, deep down they are in turmoil! In those vast empty spaces at subatomic level quarks, neutrons, protons, neutrinos and electrons all slog it out in a hit-and-miss, blind man's buff, national lottery of a piss up at a brewery. And every near-miss, every collision, every whizzing-past of these unfathomably small things happens at faster than the speed of thought. That anything solid and regular exists at all is a fluke of enormous improbability. That today is more or less as we left it yesterday we owe to...to what?
But everything is built-up, built-up! And here I sit upon this solid chair, on this solid Earth as it circles and soars through the centuries.
I gaze at my words on the screen, - burning electrons fashioned from chaos. They are still there. The cursor blinks.
Bang!Phwang!Ping!Ring-ring!!
-Go boy, go.
Silverball races this way and that, crashes, metal into metal, into taught rubber, off and against, rolls breathless down Lilliputian corridors and alleyways, rubs up against walls and slams into rotating doors, back to who knows where, never the same path twice, doubly, trebly rebounding ,faster, faster, till the final, gratuitous body-blow ...and, all passions spent, grinds to a whimpering halt.
-Fuck!
Silverball falls forlornly into The Louise's dark belly.
GAME OVER....GAME OVER....GAME OVER............
Jonny eyes the flashing livery. THE LOUISE. YOUR SCORE: 2,459,080. HIGHEST SCORE: 3,998,750.
Stars grow bigger then diminish to a point, spheres shine ziz-zaggingup and down, flashes of colour pulsate.
Kick the fucker Jonny!
Jonny kicks Louise's shimmering chrome legs. Louise shines brightly on.
How much money you got, Jonny?
Jonny feels in his pockets and removes - in no particular order- a ten pence piece, a twenty pence piece, ten pence, two pence, five pence, two pence.
That's forty nine pence Jonny. Not enough to buy you another game is it? And so many points short of HIGHEST SCORE!
Jonny looks round the arcade - Noble's Arcade. A hunched old lady pulls on a bandit's one arm, handbag swinging from her own arm. Lads in baggies, baseball hats askew, thump and accost machines and each other, their girls giggling nearby. A drunkard fumbles for change uncertain which leg to rest his swaying weight upon and drops a coin. Drunkard bends over perilously between sustainable weight and freefall; tries lifting small silver flowers from the pattern of the carpet till at last finds his coin, examines its worth through blood and milk eyes , and drops it again.
-Drunken bastard, shout the lads.
A Chinese man aloft a stool pulls at a cigarette, leans slightly back and looks at his machine like an artist contemplating his painting and pondering his next brush stroke. Another drag at his cigarette. Buddha-like he rests the back of his hand on his knees, squints his eyes gently and mouths a hushed mantra, now rocking gently back and forth. He puts the cigarette slowly in the ashtray and reaches for a lit button, simultaneously shouting out another mantra a decibel or two higher. He watches the icons spin and nods his head up and down almost in time to the revolutions. The spinning stops, motors rev, gears click - CHUNK. CHUNK. CHUNK. CHUNK....Metal coin falls onto plastic tray. He leaves the coins there and reaches for his cigarette, no worries.
A woman sat next to him smokes greedily from her cigarette and watches him with intent. Black- stockinged, red-lipsticked. She says not a word.
The hunched old lady presses her handbag to her woollen overcoat and pulls down the arm; cherries, lemons, pineapples appear and disappear till finally they stop abruptly and are still; the bandit awaits the old lady's next move. Old lady versus machine. Mind versus matter. She glides her withered fingers over flashing plastic squares, stops above one and hesitatingly presses. The icons whirl again and stop dead. The program inside has reached GAME OVER status and awaits the next command. It waits,indefinitely, purring electrons
-Ladies and Gentlemen, our prize bingo will start in five minutes with a guaranteed cash prize of fifteen pounds, a young female voice announces , from somewhere, a voice trained in Mancunian drawl.
An inventory of persons present, starting at the door and moving in a clockwise direction round the outer parameter of machines and moving spirally inwards, indicating sex, age (approx or actual), height (approx), ethnic origin (approx or actual), occupational status (actual or probable) :
Male, 32, 6ft 4in, Black/African, Security Guard
Female, 16, 5ft 4in, Mixed Race, Unemployed
Female, 16, 5ft 3in, Mixed Race, Unemployed
Female, 17, 5ft 5in, White European, Unemployed
Male, 16, 6ft 2in, Mixed Race, Unemployed
Male 16, 5ft 8in, Mixed Race, Unemployed
Male, 18, 5ft, 9in, White European, Unemployed
Male, 18, 5ft, 5in, White European, Unemployed
Male, 50, 5ft 1in, Chinese, Unemployed
Woman, 45, 5ft, 10in, Employed.
Male, 45, 5ft 2in, Chinese, Unemployed
Female, age unknown, height unknown, White- European, bingo caller
Male, 35, 5ft, 11in, White European, Employed
Male, 21, 5ft 10 ˝ in, White European, Unemployed
Female, 75, 4ft, 10in, White European, OAP
Male, 5ft 10in, White European, Unemployed
A song!
-Tonight you’re mine completely...
Past the Earthquake, left at Lucky Strike, through Golddust, Navigator, The Bends, Jackpot Jive, BonusBall, left again, thuds against Star Shoot, rebounds onto Temple of Doom and finally, at knee-height, headbutts squarely into The Louise, and drops as the proverbial King Edwards.
-Get up you tosser!
Jonny watches motionless.
Lads pile on top of lads. Arms, fists, up and down, in and out. Baseball caps trip and twist through the air. Laughter all round.
-...you give your love so sweetly...
-Right. Out now!
Large man looms over the gaggle of limbs and torsos, SECURITY emblazoned on his back. Thrusts one muscled arm into the fray and with the other grabs at the word UMBRO and pulls it towards him, almost relieving the jacket of its occupier.
-Alright mate, alright.
One by one the lads regain upright poses, the one at the bottom a little less surely.
-Out!
A black hand points to the door like a summons to another room in a house of horrors. Or a funhouse. They stomp out swearing insults and chanting to the sky.
The Security Guard stands at the doorway and watches them disappear, their size and the volume of their noise diminishing in tandem. He turns and adjusts his cap with its regal coat of arms and Latin inscription underneath - HONORIS ET VALORIS. Regaining his pose - legs slightly apart, hands crossed behind his back, chest out, walkie-talkie at hip, he surveys the arcade.
Jonny leans against The Louise; the flowers in the carpet seem to be moving, swaying, growing! He looks up. The old woman is staring at him. The machine has beaten her again - he knows. Its program looping infinitely. And he has been beaten again - she knows.
-Tonight the light of love is in your eyes...
Jonny turns and watches the lights shine brightly. THE LOUISE.
-But will you love me tomorrow?
The female voice drawls again.
-Eyes down.
