Stuck in Glass; part one

ACT ONE

BRIGIT is enjoying the sunny afternoon on her porch, the sun unable to penetrate her sphere of shade. A thick stack of old photographs is tightly secured in her wrinkly hands. A variety of handcrafted items, made of either wood, glass or stone are sitting on the chipped porch steps and rail, patiently waiting to be sold to potential customers that are passing through the neighbourhood.

At rise, Brigit is rummaging through the old photographs, smiling every couple moments whenever a frozen memory moves her. Meanwhile, MEDWIN is slowly walking down the street, dragging his left foot across the pavement while his hands are in his pockets, aimlessly staring forward. He has not yet noticed Brigit's crafts on display.

MEDWIN: Hopefully, today doesn't shatter in front of my eyes...

BRIGIT: Sale, sale, art for sale!

Medwin stops dead in his tracks upon noticing Brigit, just a few feet from her porch.

MEDWIN: These -- these are for sale?

BRIGIT: Why, yes, sir, that's what I was shouting out! All of them are handcrafted with love and effort!

Medwin now approaches the balcony with his hands out of his pockets.

MEDWIN: All of them?

BRIGIT (affirmatively): Yes! I am in a rush to get rid of all of them.

MEDWIN: Why get rid of so much fragile beauty when it can just sit uninterruptedly in your home?

BRIGIT (crestfallenly): If only we had the space. I have some pieces inside too, of course -- but the house is already enough of an obstacle course as it is with the ones that I really like.

MEDWIN (jokingly): Hm. I see. Let me see if I can lift some weight off your porch.

Medwin approaches the porch and climbs up the stairs gingerly, careful to give Brigit her personal space. His eyes dart around the given area, looking for anything that will catch his eye. But there are simply too many pieces staring back at him.

You have a beautiful collection. If this is what you're selling, then the pieces inside must be inspired either by the hand of God or Keith Haring.

BRIGIT: You're a kind, young man. Actually, my late father made most of these here.

MEDWIN: Oh -- I'm sorry to hear that. That's unfortunate.

BRIGIT: No worries. It was not up to us.

Medwin is silent while inspecting the items.

Are you looking for anything in particular?

MEDWIN: Not exactly.

BRIGIT: Are you...or I mean, do you have someone in mind? Your mother? Or girlfriend, maybe? I'd suggest the glass ones. My niece made a couple of them.

MEDWIN: Didn't your father make them?

BRIGIT: Not all of them, young man.

MEDWIN: Ah, I'm sorry, that's right!

BRIGIT: Don't be sorry. Apologizing too often means you lack a sense of regret.

MEDWIN: Did you craft any of these ones yourself?

BRIGIT: Certainly, I did.

Brigit readjusts the photographs in her hands before putting them on her lap and then gesturing at certain crafts to the right of her.

I did a couple of those glass ones.