There is a man outside my office window. He is huge, if I had to venture a guess I'd say around 6'4, 'bout 2-fiddy lbs. If I had to describe him to the police, I would say he was HUUUUUUUGE! Somewhere between this awkwardly shaped Chinese guy and the Empire State Building. Not a very helpful description, but I would pretty much be shitting myself if I met him in an alley somewhere, not least of all because I know he is a convicted criminal.
And this guy, this behemoth of a man, is standing outside my window watching mun2, probably to see the bikini clad self-esteem deprived women with daddy issues dancing around like the disease addled lesions of society that they are. This is not an uncommon occurrence in prison. The men routinely awaken at 5AM because there is a program dedicated solely to people, predominantly whorish women, dancing in what could only be described as a swimsuit in the loosest possible definition since it more closely resembles kite string holding together handi-wipes. Such is the life of a prisoner I suppose, get it where you can and sear the image into your brain for late night gratification.
While I am now very accustomed to the various habits and practices of those locked away from the world, sometimes they do something unexpected and it makes me giggle. That's right, I said giggle. It's not a girly word, shut up. Anyway, so this bear of a man has done just that. I am trying hard not to laugh visibly for fear he might stop his actions, and they are funny. Through my slightly opened door I can hear the music playing on the TV and while I'm so damn sick of the song, Katy Perry's Last Friday Night, the visual foreplay I'm watching is worth the trickle of bloo coming out my ears. This large black telephone-pole-shaped man is singing along with the musical abortion which is entertainment enough since he is, it appears, tone deaf, but he is also dancing. And dancing awkwardly, it's eerily similar to the way I would convulse and shimmy on the dance floor if I ever danced (which I don't because I'm whiter than Wonderbread). I am half expecting him to, at any point, bust out the Carlton and start singing Tom Jones.
I can't tear myself away, and I really need to since I have much work to get done. I guess it can wait until he decides to stop...oh, now we've progressed to some Nicki Minaj song and a modified version of my personal favorite high school show choir move the step-ball-change. Oh, that recall is being announced and my entertainment is now about to have to leave. Maybe he will be back this afternoon but I doubt it. He looks like the sort that enjoys playing dominoes in the noonday sun.