From the moment you step into Tropicana Lanes, you feel transported to another time. Actually, the time warp begins even before you step inside — with the huge vintage sign at the parking lot entrance, itself a relic from the golden age of cheerful, shimmering, brightly colored vulgarity. The building is enormous, housing 52 lanes, with air redolent of oil and polish and shoe sanitizer and fried everything. The ghosts of bowling-league seasons past are everywhere, in the plaques and plates and trophies that sit silently reminiscing along the walls. Tropicana Lanes isn't just a bowling alley. It's the very best kind of time machine there is.
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