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I realized I might have a problem last Saturday at 6:42 AM. I was standing in a stranger’s garage in suburban Detroit, having driven forty minutes in pre-dawn darkness to answer a Craigslist ad for an “old Nintendo with some games.” The homeowner, still in pajama pants and clutching coffee like it contained the elixir of life itself, watched with visible confusion as I meticulously inspected the underside of his childhood NES for signs of…

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