[ why can't more men be like you, midnight, @ alhaitham in this chat. the joke lands. kaveh considers it for a moment - midnight's sense of humour is a buoy. it makes kaveh think that the man is giving him just enough width to either slide by, or enough rope to hang himself with. he doesn't know what it is with midnight that has kaveh say all the things that he really ought not to say, only that it has been some time since he's felt like this: a little off kilter, a little unlike himself, a little too much like himself.

still, the moment passes. it ought to, or rather, it must, because there are two things to address here and kaveh's considerable attention suddenly swings down from where he had been tweezing open an electrical box to stare down at midnight's upturned face. it proves futile through the beam of the flashlight; kaveh blinks, rapidly, and then, because he's kaveh, says: ]

- give me that. [ he reaches down to take it.

and then, swinging that beam around and down: ] Wait, Midnight. [ midnight. kaveh's eyes narrow into little red, suspicious slits. ] We're stealing a chandelier that you've no idea where you're going to put?