Ugly Naked Guy

The apartment building that sits on the east side of Third Avenue between 87th and 88th streets is huge. I count 33 floors from my office window across the street. Most of the windows have the blinds drawn during the day, but there are a few that stay open and give us the pleasure of witnessing certain parts of the daily routines of the inhabitants. There's a woman somewhere between floors 15 and 20 who always hangs out the window to shake out a red rug. There's a guy on the 4th floor, the only floor with balconies, who likes to sit outside and work on his laptop. There's a lady on 9 or 10 who puts on either blue or red workout shorts, a sports bra, and a sweatband to do a solid 30 minutes on the elliptical machine that sits right in front of the window next to a huge fan. Her dedication to her exercise doesn't appear to be paying off, as my officemates never fail to point out. And then there is the naked guy. He's fat. He's hairy. He has several tattoos. And man, does he love being naked. He leans out the window and smokes cigarettes naked. He leans out the window and talks on his cell phone naked. He'd probably leave his apartment to get a soy energy drink at the Wildgreen cafe underneath his building naked if he could. His belly is a perfect sphere that rests on the window sill. Until yesterday the extend of his nudity wasn't exactly certain. He could presumably have been wearing a thong or low-riding boxer-briefs. But now I and my coworkers--two middle-aged women and a strapping young man--know better. Sadly, this was the most exciting thing that happened in my day.