So we walk into a cosmetic surgeon’s waiting room and see a police officer sitting there. Obviously, I think either he is a guard for a very famous person having some work done or decided to freshen up his face on his lunch break. So I have a seat and a few minutes later I see another police officer walking towards us with a guy in an orange jumpsuit with shackles on his ankles and wrists. Ok, if he “is” famous, his claim to that fame is probably not something to casually talk about at the dinner table. I haven’t spent much time in cosmetic surgeon’s waiting rooms but I’m thinking this is a little odd.
So now I’m wondering what this guy who’s probably heading back to his minimally furnished 6’x8′ “studio apartment” upstate is doing here. Maybe he figured he finally had some time to get that mole on his face taken care of. I was going to ask, but figured the two armed police officers might not be all that cooperative.