The perfect place for me. Dwight Morris backed into a parking space just south of the arcade. “Like a pond stocked to the gills,” Dwight snickered, “with little fishies just waiting to be caught.” Dwight knew he wouldn’t be the only middle-aged man in the arcade. Others like him cruised the aisles of games, pretending to be interested in the neon, the beeps and buzzes, restlessly shifting a dollar’s worth of tokens from one hand to the other. But their eyes sought out the eyes of the youngsters, always finding one or two who would make eye contact and hold it. And there were always the bold ones: little tramps who would come up and ask you for the time, a light, or spare change. Those that tempt, taunt, tease…all in need of salvation. But their savior would have to come another day. After
