MAN-CHILD DOTH PROTEST TOO MUCH OUTSIDE KREMWERK
That was not a giant rat speeding around the street outside of Kremwerk on a Saturday night but actually a remote controlled Traxxas Rally Car. You said that it cost you $500, that it went from 0 to 60 in two seconds, that you had like five or six of them, and that you couldn't say anymore because you had to go home and fuck your girlfriend. Then you accidentally dropped your expensive man-child toy while a crowd of drag queens looked on. *Slow clap.*
WAR OF WORDS AT VERA PROJECT
On a Tuesday night at Vera Project, the all-ages music venue in Lower Queen Anne, we noticed some extremely Seattle graffiti—boring and useless—on top of a mural near the venue's bathroom. On top of the graffiti on top of the mural? Passive-aggressive meta-commentary on the graffiti. "THIS IS NOT A GRAFFITI WALL... IT IS A PERMANENT MURAL, SO PLEASE LEAVE IT ALONE!" one note says. "THANK YOU FOR RESPECTING 1 MONTH OF HARD WORK!" another note says. It is hard to decide what's most depressing: (1) graffiti culprits who scribble phone numbers on things, (2) people who cover a mural with pieces of paper urging people not to cover the mural, or (3) the phrase "1 month of hard work." This mural should be Seattle's new logo.
ROSEMARY RUNNER ON PINE
Older gentleman recreationally jogging down the middle of Pine Street during rush hour last Friday: From whose front yard did you steal those huge branches of rosemary? And what were you yelling to that child who was waiting for the bus? And when you looked toward the sky as you continued your run, were you wowed by the vivid purples and oranges of the evening sky, and the clouds like brushed dog fur? Do you feel in these moments that the world is completely unaccountable?
OUTPOURING ON RAINIER AVENUE
We saw you from the route 9 bus. It was around noon on Monday, October 5. You, a young woman of mixed race, were in the backseat of an old-looking SUV. Two middle-aged men (one white, one black) were in the front seats. We were all waiting for the light on Rainier Avenue and Jackson Street when suddenly you opened the door and began to vomit. What poured out of your mouth was very green. What had you eaten for breakfast that could turn so green? Your vomiting would not stop. And the traffic light would not turn green. We watched you—straightened hair, one hand on the door handle, a loose-fitting Mariners shirt. We tried not to notice your exposed breasts, which swayed with your convulsions.
DAY DRINKERS IN BALLARD
You and your girlfriend stumbled out of Patxi's Pizza on Ballard Avenue on a Tuesday afternoon. Your car was parked out front, and you walked straight to it. "Why are we doing this? We've been drinking all day!" she yelled as she dropped her purse onto the street and got into the car. "We can just get an Uber! You're an asshole!" she added. She may have been shitfaced, but she was right. Asshole.
RED HEAD DOWNTOWN
You got on the bus in the heart of downtown, on Third and Pine, and you quietly said something to the bus driver that made him let you ride for free. Your entire head was dyed red, from your Mohawked scalp down your neck to your T-shirt collar, including everything in between—ears, eyelids. The red was splotchy. The paint was from yesterday or the day before. This was what was left. It was a Monday afternoon. You must have had quite the weekend.
LOST IN THE AMAZON
It was lunchtime and you were on Westlake Avenue in South Lake Union with two men, all three of you wearing your Amazon employee badges on blue lanyards. "It's not in here," you said, punching the name of your destination into Google Maps on your phone, but the destination was so new that Google Maps didn't know it yet. When you looked up from your phone, your eyes fixed on another point in the near distance, and you said, "I've never seen that bike shop before!"
You were two bros in Seahawks jerseys, fist-pumping in the darkened Paramount Theatre to Death Cab for Cutie. You knew every word to "I Will Follow You into the Dark."
FACES OF SHORELINE
You were on your owner's leash on a sunny weekday afternoon. He was as big, muscular, and foreboding-looking as you, and in fact you two wore the exact same expression. The way you inched slowly along the path in the idyllic little park in Shoreline, it felt like maybe the two of you were team-stalking the place. Except we all noticed your matching faces and we just found you funny.
A FRUIT IN FREMONT
Ever since you, a ripe yellow quince, were plucked from a tree in an unknown person's front yard in Fremont on a Tuesday afternoon, you have done nothing but drive your thief mad with your intoxicatingly sweet, boozy scent. From your seat on the kitchen counter, you perfume the entire room. No one can resist the urge to pick you up and repeatedly take long, deep sniffs of your round, lumpy bottom.
"MOTHERFUCKER!" AT HUGO HOUSE
We saw you read a wonderful short story at a Hugo House open mic about an older woman who takes a walk around the city and tries to think of reasons to keep living. You didn't win the open-mic contest, but your line about a talking crow that said "Motherfucker!" was the most memorable of the night.
VORACIOUS READER AT THE ASIAN GROCERY
On a Tuesday afternoon, you were wearing dark-blue scrubs and walking along the shady side of Uwajimaya grocery store in the International District. Under your left arm was the world's thickest roll of newspapers, on pink and green paper and in Chinese. You were walking fast, because a person with that much reading to do has to get started.