I once knew a guy named Greg. When I say I knew him I mean that I would say hello and repeat the same small talk over and again with him. I guess you'd call him an acquaintance. Either way I knew him well enough to recall two things: he liked boxing and jumping out of first story windows.
I remember the first time. I was sitting on the couch playing solitaire when he sprinted past me into the adjoining room. I forgot about where to place my red seven and glanced over as he bent his knees, spread his arms wide and launched himself out through the open window. After a second or two of confused silence I walked over to the window and looked out. There he lay, spread eagle on a mattress on the lawn below.
When asked why he did this Greg would just shrug his shoulders and raise an eyebrow. You see it was his Thing. Everyone has their Thing and this was his: jumping out of first story windows.
I witnessed this stunt three more times: the last of which the mattress was replaced by a forward roll. (You need to up the ante or the crowd gets restless you see.)
Sometimes if I'm alone I imagine myself playing solitaire while Greg comes running into the room from my past and out through the window to the street below.
That always did make me smile.