He grabbed the PSP and carried it to his balcony. The air tasted of metal and rosemary from the neighbor’s plant. He held the little device like a trophy, like something that had always been a part of him. The cartridge had kept his progress, had archived his persistence in neat blocks of memory.
Matteo grinned. “Same thing,” he said, taking a bitter sip. “You gonna go pro or keep collecting digital trophies?” save data motogp europe psp