"Sit down, son."
You do so. You don't feel very inclined to resist the judge's order, because this situation is so out of the ordinary. He already sentenced you - by all rights, once you left his sight, you should have never seen him again. But he managed to secure a private meeting with you in his office before being shipped off to jail, so here you are, in handcuffs and an inmate's outfit, sitting in this judge's office.
The judge is already a sight taller than the average person, and now that you've sat down he towers over you easily. The judge walks to his drawers and rummages through them as he says in his thick southern accent, "You've managed to get caught with a non-violent crime, and still get a whole decade's sentence. There's something about that that just doesn't sit right with me." He finds what he's looking for: his favorite brand of cigar. He continues as he lights it up: "You clearly aren't any menace to society, and our jail system is overburdened as it is, so I'm thinking that there's got to be a better way for us to deal with this situation." Once he's got the lit cigar in his mouth, he approaches his chair, and slowly lowers his heavy, rotund frame into it. His accent becomes thicker around the cigar as he finally gets to the point: "I've got a proposal for you, son. How would you like..."