MAME SCROLLING
My friend Matt placed the Ouya console onto my outstretched palm and said with a smile, “You’re holding every arcade game ever made in your hand there.” I stared at the magic cube in hushed awe. I thought of the endless aisles of arcade cabinets I’d walked along during my childhood in the Seventies and Eighties and imagined them as tiny corridors inside the Ouya which now I could waltz along forever, without the need for an infinite supply of ten pence pieces.
