"The absolute weight doesn’t matter. It depends on how long I hold it. If I hold it for a minute, it’s not a problem. If I hold it for an hour, I’ll have an ache in my arm. If I hold it for a day, my arm will feel numb and paralyzed. In each case, the weight of the glass doesn't change, but the longer I hold it, the heavier it becomes."
And there is a cruelty in the glass itself. Glass does not care how long you have carried it. It does not offer gratitude for your caution. It offers no friction to help you hold on. It is cold, smooth, and indifferent. It promises only one thing: if you fail, the breaking will be loud, and the cleanup will be painful. It is the terrifying realization that the very thing you are protecting has the potential to become the thing that wounds you. Carry The Glass
Levels are filled with hazards including moving platforms, narrow ledges, spikes, dumpsters, and giant balls. Modes: "The absolute weight doesn’t matter
To carry the glass does not mean you will never break it. It means you accept the risk. And if it breaks, you do not walk away. You get the broom. You check the shards for any piece large enough to be re-cut, re-framed, or re-purposed. Kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold, teaches us that the broken thing can be more beautiful than the unbroken one. If I hold it for an hour, I’ll have an ache in my arm
: Success is impossible without constant verbal coordination.