Eleven o'clock and the executives file into the boardroom. Sweat is galloping in herds around me as the winch raises my platform above the sill and I feel the heat of the window glass and their eyes upon me. I pretended not to notice them. Every week the seventh floor becomes their private box with my window as the main event.
Federal police are watching someone at the A.I.S who is suspected of distributing drugs. The new super steroid is infused into soft drinks to avoid detection. "Pose as a window cleaner" they said, "to observe the suspects". I went along with it, thinking how tacky the concept seemed and now here I am, on surveillance, with a room full of them watching me watch them.
Their numbers grow each week. Now there are eight of these women staring at me. It’s hot. I take off my shirt. It's weird being seen like this. I don't think I'm particularly handsome but gym is paying off as my stomach flattens out. My partner noticed the change too and our sex life has improved.
Oh. Oh, here comes the red headed one. She hands me a diet Coke. It feels great as I smear the icy can across my forehead. I gulp thirstily then feel goose bumps rise, as I become conscious of their intense scrutiny. I smile back at them and turn away. This job could have interesting potential if I wasn't gay.