[ Marty watches Mordecai gather a dustpan, starting to sweep the little pieces of glass into a pile. He breathed out the air he just realized he had been holding, before slipping out of his chair and onto the floor. ]

Hang on. Glass is kinda tricky. Least that's what my mom always said. [ Then something about cleaning the area with a wet paper towel, so you wouldn't leave any fragments lying around. Didn't want people getting their feet cut up, anyway. ] Glass is always a pain in the ass.

[ Poetry.

He looks around for a trash bin when the glass is swept up. ] Is that it?