“Not anymore than usual for anyone,” David replies humbly to Star with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “I just play it sometimes when waiting for my laundry.” The lanky man makes a head motion towards his machine, which, was just finishing up a spin-cycle. Noticing that, David glances at his watch; making a mental calculation.
“The television is usually like that,” Looking to the fuzzy, green-cast television hanging off of the ceiling. “And the paperbacks people leave are well,” a pointed look to a paperback with a half-torn off cover. What little of the cover was there betrayed the content: some overly saccharine romance novel that would cost a dollar at a nearby dollar store. “They are what they are,” David concludes.
“Which leaves the machine, really.” David returns to the Arcade Cabinet he and Star are hanging near.