. . . who spoke only of Windex.
Not even surfaces to be cleaned with Windex.
Just the Windex itself.
I eventually deduced that he had never used Windex but had a substantial supply of the product inside his home, and that his whole deal was focused on a kind of luxuriant readiness to clean relevant surfaces without limit or restraint.
But such a feeling can only be properly maintained if the supply of Windex isn't reduced in any way that could induce anxiety of the form,
"My God! Do I have enough Windex?!"
Interesting fellow.
His shit was definitely kinda fucked.
But an interesting fellow all the same.
