Interior glass wears a brown frost you can pretend is “just tint.”

You cannot. You take the wand. Oskar takes the squeegee. Imani takes notes like notes are fertilizer. The electrostatic comb makes a whisper as fines jump. PAR ticks. The LEDs wait like a choir.

Oskar: “If you flood the glass with spare irrigation water, you get mineral spots and a swamp on the floor. If you skip the fans after, you clean a window for air that will not move.”

Still air is a soft trap. Leaves have a boundary layer, a little coat of leftover breath. Without a breeze, CO2 has a slow walk to the stomata even when the room number looks proud.

You can wand first, then lamps. You can tell yourself fans are a power bill.

GROVE: “Interior optical loss: dropping as you work. Good.”

Praise from GROVE is a rare spice. Do not spend it on a hose.