Review: Eurogamer
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A chilly November evening, and I'm walking home from town. It's a forty minute journey, most of it steeply uphill. It's cold, it's dark, I'm tired and I'm bored. There's probably another ten or fifteen minutes to go when I grind to a sudden halt, and sigh. There's no pleasure in this. Why do I do it? Shouldn't the journey be as important as the destination? A light flicks on in a house just ahead of me. There's a pause, and then an unmistakable guitarline snakes out into the cold, quiet air. It's Sweet Child O'Mine. I half-grin, and start walking again, fingers unconsciously miming Guitar Hero buttons. I can't help but glance in the window of the house as I pass, hoping to see the face of my personal Jesus. The guy in there sees me and freezes, his fingers also mid air-guitar. We both pause in embarrassment. Then he looks at my hands. I look at his hands. He smiles. I smile. And I walk on, still grinning. Woah-oh-oh-oh, sweet child of mi-i-i-iyyyne.
Nov 21, 2007, 07:18 AM
