Yet, despite all of this, I could not imagine it any other way. It is not the fanciest of places by any means, there are some panels missing from the ceiling the bathroom door does not always close all the way some of the stools scattered about are ripped and torn and there are piles of junk and equipment stacked in the back on a workbench. Essentially, the whole place is a museum, taking machines that date back to the 1930s and allowing anyone to stop by and drop a few quarters inside. The Pinball Hall of Fame markets itself as a museum, yet it is a museum that walks the line between a place to see old artifacts from a different era, and a social place to play arcade games and socialize with friends. Inside there are rows of pinball machines by the dozen, new and old, rare and common. It was immediately what this whole place was about, and why so many people just had to stop by. With a sudden blast of cool air, bongs and bells blasting, and flashing lights coming from every direction. We approached the building, doors blacked out with few people outside and opened up the doors. Something good must be going on inside, and something good enough for people to seek out this odd little warehouse in the scathing desert heat. Despite being in this strange spot that would be entirely missed by any passerby, the parking lot remains partially full with the occasional small tour bus parked out front.
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