Evening Match

Dusk rolled in, time to unwind tactical operations. I dragged the chunky black game controller flat onto the middle sofa cushion. Booted the console with a heavy shove against the power switch. FC 26 menu music hummed through the speakers. My dog hopped up, circling twice before collapsing into a shaggy heap right against my left flank. I wedged my stubby paw over the directional pad, lining up my favorite veteran squad. We survived the field. Now we run the midfield. The screen lit the dark room in steady green grass.