Marcel Winatschek

Super Potato

When Christine and I went through Super Potato in Akihabara, we were in there for hours. The store sprawls across several floors—row after row of SNES games, Dreamcast consoles, strategy guides yellowed from age, Final Fantasy soundtracks. Prices are reasonable, five to twenty euros for most things, though the rare stuff costs more. The upper floors have an arcade and a shop for snacks.

I left with a Japanese blue Pokemon edition in the original packaging, manual and trading card intact. Eight euros. It felt like I’d gotten away with something.

Super Potato isn’t unusual—just a store that refuses to let old stuff disappear. But you feel it walking through. All that stuff everyone collected, all those hours spent on it—still there, still wanted, still findable. You know going in it won’t fix anything. You go anyway.