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"I'd kill for a game," I thought, wading through the giant pit o' games. "Why does nobody make them?" I reached the edge of the pit and climbed out. Games were everywhere, in my hair, my clothes, my teeth. I tried to brush them off and pick them out, but without much success. Then I made for the door. It was blocked by games.


"How hard can it be to make a game, after all?" I shifted the teetering stacks of games so I could open the door a crack. It was there, squeezing through the opening, scarcely able to breathe for all the games pressing in, that it hit me.


"I should make a game."


I said it aloud, games trickling slowly from my ear holes.

"I will make a game."

I live in Melbourne, Australia.

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