You get offered a lot of drugs when you play Big Buck Hunter alone, shooting into the wee hours in the back of various Brooklyn dives. Molly. Coke. Something called cherry soap. "I'm just here to kill bucks," I tell the dealers, pointing to the arcade game with its toy shotgun, virtual deer bounding across the screen. "Got any performance enhancers for this?"

Most walk away silently. One lingers, watching. "This is some addicting shit," he says. "Be careful you don't get hooked." He laughs. I do too, but the next morning, after having cartoon wildebeests stampede through my dreams, I realize I'm addicted to Big Buck Hunter.

I play more that night, and the night after that, and the night after that. I have a goal: to secure one of 64 spots in the Big Buck Hunter World Championship.