Penny Arcade:
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I've spent a couple nights with Heavy Rain now and I think it's really special. If you're a parent, (especially a Dad) this game can be pretty difficult to play at times. In fact I'm curious if people who don't have kids will end up getting as much out of it. I don't know if it's an 89.85%, or a 9.7 out of 10. What I do know is that after a late night playing it, I sneak into my son's room and hug him before I go to bed. I think Heavy Rain is probably one of the most important games ever made. Maybe not one of the best, but definitely important.
And
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When there was an Olive Garden close enough for us to frequent, Gabriel and I did so with great enthusiasm. We were drawn there by its Tuscan authenticity, and also the fact that you could at that time secure an infinite amount of food for four dollars. That struck us as a solid rate of exchange.
Gabriel likes that - when they bring out the check - it is heaped with Andes Mints. He likes to imply, just above the threshold of audible speech, that he will make it "worth their while" if they should bring more than the customary one mint per person. Understand that this is even more ridiculous than it seems: I don't even like Andes Mints. He's already up one mint simply because I'm there.
While he is eating the mint - the first mint at any rate, the first of many - he is folding the tiny foil wrapper into semblance of its previous shape. When it has assumed some facsimile of mintfulness, he will then offer it to you. It's not worth refusing it, it's really not, because the offer will be repeated until you play out your role in his twisted pageant. Unfolding the wrapper, you will discover that no mint is present.
"You dumb fucker," he'll say, unwrapping another mint. "God, you're stupid."
Opening that empty wrapper is what it's like playing through the parts of Heavy Rain you've done before. Virtually drying yourself off with a virtual towel virtually is not an act which endures repetition.