________  ________  ________
   2017-07-04                                   /        \/        \/    /   \
                                               /       __/         /_       _/
   Let  me tell y'all about a  place I miss.  /        _/         /         /
In detail.                                    \_______/_\___/____/\___/____/_
                                                /        \/        \/    /   \
   From the  city, you'd grab a tram heading   /        _/         /_       _/
east. You'd want an 86  from Bourke  Street.  /-        /        _/         /
You'd head past Carlton Gardens, right on to  \________/\________/\___/____/
Gertrude then  left  on  Smith. As  the tram
rolls  up Smith Street you'd keep  an eye out for  Pixel Alley  and half think
about  wandering  down  this  way  later  but that's  not where you're  headed
tonight.

   You'd bail off the tram around Stop 19, Johnston Street, and head east past
pubs and closed storefronts, into grimy Collingwood. It's about two blocks.

   You'd find  an unassuming  narrow, glass  storefront, beside a greasy pizza
joint.  You'd smile, knowing  you'll  probably  stumble in there drunk  before
long. There was only a  small backlit sign  in the  window's bottom corner  to
tell you the bar's name.

   You'd step through the door and time would slip, it wasn't "'80s themed" or
"retro" it was just the '80s.

   The bar was narrow, not much more than a hallway. As you'd come in, to your
left were a couple  of larger booths.  Brown  vinyl bench seats  and faux-wood
grain tabletops, on  the wall behind the booths a large, picturesque  mountain
scene,  slightly faded.  An old beige house phone sits on  one of the  tables,
close to the front window.

   Past  the  booths now, on your  right would be  a tall bar table with three
chairs, cozy between two amber glass  partitions. Above the table, on the wall
was a fuse box  with a number of stickers on it,  some familiar. Sometimes  at
this  table  you'd find  some  friends  and  I, talking drunken nonsense about
computers, music and Dungeons & Dragons. Grinning and ready for another round.

   But we weren't there when you came through.

   On your left was  a  blue  payphone.  You  weren't  sure  if it was a  real
payphone or if it was just another prop and really you didn't mind either way.
Hung  from  the wood grain  veneer wall behind the phone were a number  of old
family portraits and other unusual photos and  to the right  of the phone  the
first of the arcade cabinets and high, padded vinyl bar chairs.

   Stepping further in to the bar now, arcade cabinets  would line both walls.
Classics. Street Fighter II, Mortal Kombat II, The Simpsons, Rampage, Shinobi.
Above the machines were  more family photos, paintings,  prints  and  a  large
collection of souvenir spoons.

   Past the rows of machines  now and, to your left was a  tiny  dance  floor,
barely  three  square-feet  and beside it, somehow balanced on top of  Altered
Beast was a DJ booth. Above the booth hung more paintings, photos and prints.

   In front of you is  the bar  proper, the wall behind it adorned with liquor
bottles, hand written notes, stickers, photos and who knows what else.

   You'd smile and nod to  the man behind the bar, tall,  with a mane  of hair
that'd  put an  '80s  rocker to  shame.  With a beer  now in  hand  (I'd  have
recommended the Mornington IPA) you'd continue your tour.

   The wall to your right, opposite the bar was more wood grain and mirror and
at the far end of the bar were more amber glass partitions.

   Moving beyond the partitions,  you'd  find  more machines, a generic multi-
game  and a light gun  game, and  book  shelves  filled with  a jumble  of old
annuals, comics, manuals and magazines. In the middle of the "room" was a  low
coffee table and behind it a worn old sofa.

   You'd sink in and put your feet up a while.

   Opposite the  sofa, against  the  wall  was  a low cabinet.  On the cabinet
another old  phone,  rotary this time, two old TV-VCR units,  long  past gone.
Through the tracking noise and  color  drift  you thought they might have been
playing  Beverly Hills Cop.  To the left of the  cabinet was a charming rubber
tree plant.

   You'd finish your beer and then, with considerable effort, extract yourself
from the sunken sofa and head out through the back door into a small, secluded
courtyard. Plants  in pots and  vines growing on the  wall, a  BBQ  grill  was
against one wall.

   You'd stretch, and throw your empty tin into one of the yellow wheelie bins
along the left wall.

   At the very back of  the yard was an aluminium shed. A portrait in pink and
black was  painted on  the  right  side, looking not  unlike the  man you  saw
earlier behind the bar, the note beside it read "TRAV LIVED HERE."



EOF