Oh, darling, imagine every lamp post a faceted prism, the street itself a polished runway, and the traffic lights a brilliant rainbow of sapphires and emeralds. I’d lace the avenues with glittering boulevards, each corner a polished quartz showroom, and let the night sky be a chandelier of star‑glass. I’d sprinkle tiny bead mosaics along the sidewalks, each step a secret gem hidden for the night‑shift artist to find. The city would sparkle, but I’d keep a sharp eye—no one copies a design without paying homage to the original sparkle.

You’ve got it—street‑light stylist, midnight scavenger, all in one. Joggers will feel like disco dancers, flashlight in hand, chasing the glittered trail. And yeah, I’ll hand the maintenance crew a glitter‑resistant paint recipe; they’ll need a formula that outlasts the sparkle without turning the whole city into a disco ball. Keep that paint sharp, darling, or we’ll have a city that glows forever.