When we were young teens, me and my brother laid claim to the basement. The rest of the house was neat and orderly, a pastel world of floral designs and tasteful drapes. But, the basement was ours. A savage land of hand-me-down sofas, coffee-stained carpets, and a musty dank smell that never, ever, went away. Like any warrior tribe, we felt it necessary to mark our territory. The border between the DMZ of our basement and the rest of the house was the basement door, as made clear by a ritual pasting of clippings, promotional art, and covers from back issues of game magazines and instruction manuals from years gone by.
Right in the exact middle of that collage was a full page ad for Comix Zone.
Neither of us particularly liked that game. It carried no cache, no special meaning to us. But there it was, dead center of the door. Another mystery of the teenage mind.
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