It’s the last one he needs. Matty ‘The Bump’ Richards was bragging again, ‘bout how he had the top score on Flintstones (Williams, 1994) and Joey just can’t stand the way he says I’m Top, I’m Number One and bangs his pint down on the table so it sloshes over the side and everyone grabs for their smartphones and curses him for being a wanker and won’t he just shut up about pinball because nobody cares. But that’s how The Bump gets when he’s had one too many. Joey’s the quiet one. He never tells a soul about his quest but ever since Matty got on the IFPA (International Flipper Pinball Association) player rankings he’s been boring the tits off everyone. Joey’s not ranked but he’s beaten every one of the scores The Bump has mentioned, even if his fingers felt sore for days and the change machine swallowed more than one of his twenties without plinking the quids out below. He doesn’t know if Matty has noticed, that’s not the point. He’s doing this for himself. Joey’s not flash but he keeps going until the job is done. That’s his power. He just needs to find that last table. It’s not in the big arcade in town where most of the tables can be found. He doesn't want to ask Matty. He doesn’t want to set that prick off again, on one of his stories about stance, finger position or hitting the ramp six times in a row. He trudges into another bar, Cathy from work thought she might have seen a table there but she doesn’t know which one it is, why? There’s a glow of lights in the corner. Owe you one, Cathy, cos it’s only a matter of time now. Yabba dabba doo.
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