Let's amp up the window washing.

The other day, window washers assaulted the building I'm working in. And by "assaulted," I mean that they were just doing their job. But they startled the crap out of nearly everyone.

Three of these acrobatic men all slammed into our 25th floor windows at the same time. Then the rubbery sounds of squeegees waved through the air like blasts of buckshot.

But it was still cool. Many of us grabbed our phones to snap photos as the Peter-Pan-like shadows danced behind the blinds.

"Perhaps we should wave," I suggested. "They probably don't get too much human interaction when office folks are trying to ignore them."

"I bet they get flashed a lot," a guy commented.

Shortly after, I walked home. And another building was being washed by these brave men.

And as I watched from the sidewalk, I thought to myself, window washing could be even more entertaining if retired Cirque du Soleil performers did it.

Think about it. A flexible clown scaling up the side of a glass building without a rope, tumbling and stretching as he artfully removes dirt and grime above the streets.

Together, the crew of clowns would spin and dance. Operatic music would play, and just as it reaches a crescendo ...

... the clowns fall, spinning to earth.

The crowds which have gathered below would gasp. They would their faces behind quivering hands. Others would stare as the colorful clowns twisted and flailed, fighting gravity's strong grip.

And then, just as it seems too late, they would all land on ledges and light post with the litheness of cats. The whole descent was a part of the show, the audience would realize. Then applause and cheers would explode from the masses.

And the window washers would dash off into the sky, leaving behind a sparkling building and an amazed group of onlookers.