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It’s midnight again in America.
At the end of the highway is something better—or at least, hopefully, something different. Bleak fields and barren ghost towns whip past up the lonesome crowded highway, the rumble of the engine keeping time with the skittering footsteps of a thousand bugs dripping like sweat down your brow.
A dark casual odyssey of wired energy, COKE BUGS is a stark vignette of rust belt noir, a long late night road trip north through the long highways, barren towns, and jittering insect seas of the propulsive compulsive impulse. Taking structural cues from a roguelike’s hallucination and draping them across the electric twitch of a decaying hypercasual control scheme, the crude figures it scrapes on the inside walls of your brain will not soon cease to haunt.
At the end of the highway is something better—or at least, hopefully, something different. Bleak fields and barren ghost towns whip past up the lonesome crowded highway, the rumble of the engine keeping time with the skittering footsteps of a thousand bugs dripping like sweat down your brow.
A dark casual odyssey of wired energy, COKE BUGS is a stark vignette of rust belt noir, a long late night road trip north through the long highways, barren towns, and jittering insect seas of the propulsive compulsive impulse. Taking structural cues from a roguelike’s hallucination and draping them across the electric twitch of a decaying hypercasual control scheme, the crude figures it scrapes on the inside walls of your brain will not soon cease to haunt.
