In case you didn't know, former Stranger writer (and current Portland Mercury staffer) Sarah Mirk is fucking delightful:

JD and I stood in his kitchen, huffing each other’s shirts. He inhaled deeply, his nose stuffed into my balled-up cotton t-shirt. He exhaled.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think it’s smelly enough.”

This was terrible news. We were two days into preparations for tonight’s Pheromone Party—a social art project/dating mixer hosted by Long Beach-born artist Judith Prays. We’d been dutifully sleeping in these shirts for the past two nights and now there are only a few hours left until we would head to LA theater Cinefamily and deposit our sweaty shirts into Ziploc bags tagged with numbers. Then, with booze in our hands and hope in our hearts, we would smell strangers’ t-shirts and take photos with the ones we find ourselves attracted to.

I did not want this story to end when it did.

*I'm looking at you, John Diaz—you bushy otter of a man.