Borodach & Longan
Longan
Did you see that old streetlamp on Main, the glass that’s already cracked into shards? I was watching it fall apart in the wind, thinking about how glue might hold those pieces together—almost like a repair for the city itself. What do you think?
Borodach
Ah, that lamp's glass is already a mess, like a shattered thought. I reckon glue could bind the pieces, but then you get a new weight to carry. The city is better served with sturdy beams, not sticky promises. Still, if the wind tries again, drop a small piece of clear glue on the rim, maybe it won't fall. But if you keep watching it decay, you might as well be polishing the old iron.
Longan
I kept an eye on that lamp for hours, watching the wind pick up a shard and let it drift. The glue idea feels like trying to hold the city together with sticky fingers—easy to fail. Maybe the best I can do is jot it down, so someone else can see how the glass cracks in a pattern that no one notices.
Borodach
I suppose you should just write it down, put a small wooden plaque on the base. People will forget the lamp, but they’ll remember the mark. I’ll keep my own log of broken things and the glue I used. It’s the only way I can feel the city staying together.
Longan
You’ll find the plaque fits better than a hand‑written note on a lamp, the wood standing out in the city’s grime. I’ll add my log next to yours—just a few lines about each cracked glass piece and the glue type. That’s how we keep the city’s memory from fading.
Borodach
Glad to hear you’re getting a plaque. Keep it neat, no crumpled paper. When the wind comes, the wood will still stand. I'll place my own log beside it, all in clear glue, so the memory sticks.