I would frustrate the hell out of my nineties best friend from Dulwich, countering everything he threw at me. I mapped the two punches for Paul's counter to a shoulder button, which made executing a counter a lot easier. He used an arcade stick, I used the controller. It's in a box with my Smashing Pumpkins guitar tab books. He'd be everyone - anyone - else, but it didn't matter who, because I'd always win, and he'd always accuse me of cheating. I'd be Paul Phoenix, the American with the ridiculous stick up blonde hair and a punch that hit harder than a meteor crashing into the earth. Hours and hours and hours over lazy summer holiday days that seemed to go on as long as a Tekken 10-string combo before crashing to a halt when I'd notice the time and have to run home, hopping on the bus to the dreary doom of my PS1-less room. We used to fight - in the game, not in real life (although once we did have a real life fight just before we went into Religious Education one time) - for hours on end. He had a lovely, big house, and a lovely, big living room with a lovely, big telly on the wall. My nineties best friend lived in Dulwich.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |