Computers transformed my neighborhood in 1995, I was 11 years old and my universe started to expand. The computer store became a place of gathering, new friends found amongst the anxiety to grab the controls and get another go at rescuing the princess from the clock.

Our parents- everyday more strict with dial tones as if predicting the arrival of the modem- controlled the phone calls in which we made plans to meet at the home with the brand new game. After school, sitting on the living room floor or in inadequate furniture we agitated our mothers while trying to intuitively move fast through the mazes; ignoring clues and instructions often revealed unexpected winners.

No longer satisfied with the pink look of games running on unsuitable platforms, we excavated new strategies to increase memory at the expenses of crashes and the occasional burn.

Playing became real as fear showed his face through the screams and yells of friends fathers; the households that provided the snacks and cookies in the intervals of catch progressively became ninja territory as we found out the responsibility of searching for Hubble photos and breasts in a time and money consuming internet.
Wireless was unthinkable in my youth- suitcase phones are nostalgia from a period never witnessed- the journey came late to the shores of the Atlantic; such interactive narratives were all we had to fill our days as we waited for the boat. Now- merged with the sound of the waves- the collective story telling by the piano at the bar makes me unease, feeling displaced, constricted by architectures that jumped out of my old screens.