[ like a chameleon changing its colours, kaveh thinks, or a snake retracting its bite. but that bright pink remains the same. a storm would recognise its own ilk anywhere. do like things not draw upon one another like starvation? but kaveh thinks: it's a colour that belongs on a canvas wider than this one.

kaveh breathes out, low, slow, in the way of a sigh. ]

If we're going down that route, might I point out that you were passed out drunk with your picture being circulated when I first laid eyes on you? Are you not at least culpable for half this conversation's existence? [ kaveh retracts his finger. and then, uncoiling from his crouch, he slips the flashlight into his mouth, and points it up. the beam of light cuts once again through the cloistered darkness, illuminating the little electrical box.

thirty seconds of a pair of screws and a bit of pliering, and the weight of the chandelier sinks into midnight's hand proper. kaveh removes the flashlight from his mouth, and, because kaveh, first shakes out his hair. ]

Done. That wasn't so difficult. [ he maintains his position on his chair with care, and looks down. ] Can you get it down to the floor? Do you need a hand?