A happened to be walking past the ruins of the old Bus Stop bar on East Pine Street, where he used to host karaoke nights. But even as Adé mourns the loss of the Bus Stop, he still looks hot. His plaid jacket (price unknown) was a gift from a friend who couldn't quite fit into it. "She said it was so skinny that it would probably only fit me," Adé says. Though he is what's commonly referred to as a "tall drink of water," he prefers shoes with heels: "For some reason, I just want that extra height." Adé usually shops up and down Broadway, looking for tailored or otherwise fitted clothes, "preferably in black"—coincidentally, the correct color for expressing grief. Now he hosts karaoke on Sundays at McLeod Residence in Belltown.

The Bus Stop was torn down, along with other bars on the same block, in order to make room for condominiums. Technically, the word "condominium" doesn't refer to a type of building but is rather a definition of a kind of legal ownership arrangement. According to Wikipedia, the first condominiums were founded in Puerto Rico in 1958, as a kind of adaptation of Napoleonic property law. The idea was quickly shipped over to Salt Lake City by a Mr. Keith B. Romney, who is widely hailed as the "Father of the Condominium." Keith B. Romney's relation to failed presidential candidate Willard "Mitt" Romney is unknown.

According to the Seattle wing of Condo.com, the source for "news, reviews, and discussion on the latest in the Seattle Condo Market," there are prime condos available in Seattle at the moment, ranging in price from $350,000 to $1,900,000. Many people say that the condominium market is in a downturn, but much building continues apace. The Bus Stop, where people sang much-loved popular classics on Adé's karaoke nights, is now rubble; perhaps in a few years it will be a stylish, retail-on-the-ground-floor condominium complex filled instead with the joyous sounds of a Starbucks.

Justine (left), 21, was out for a walk with her "best bitch 4-eva" Beki (right), 19, when our photographer flagged them down. "We had just bought two half-gallons of tequila [out of frame] and we were heading up to a friend's place to hang out," she explains. The two didn't purposefully coordinate their bright red jackets (Justine's from Trendy Wendy, 211 Broadway E, 322-6642, "like 40 bucks"; Beki's from Wet Seal, 4502 S Steele St, Tacoma, 253-472-3440, $30) but they enjoy looking good. "I wish everyone had good fashion sense," sighs Beki. The two frequent Urban Outfitters and thrift stores like Buffalo Exchange.

Beki's fashion idol is Jackie Onassis, formerly known as Jackie Kennedy, the wife of John F. Kennedy and the First Lady of America from 1961 to 1963, a woman popularly known as Jackie O. Beki admires Jackie O's world-renowned pillbox hats, and even owns a couple, but she feels awkward wearing them in public, saying that "people think they're weird."

The pillbox hat is Jackie O's second most famous fashion accessory, of course: The first would be her husband's brains, splattered across the jaunty pink outfit that she chose to wear on November 22, 1963, the day JFK was shot. In the hospital, after her husband was pronounced dead, Jackie refused to remove the blood-and-brain-stained suit, saying, "I want them to see what they've done to Jack."

This wasn't the first case of presidential brains not being cleaned up: When Abraham Lincoln was shot in the head by John Wilkes Booth at the Ford's Theatre, he was taken to a nearby home, where, because of his great height, he was laid crossways in a bed. The pillow, smeared with a modest circle of Lincoln's brains and blood, still exists at this home to this day, beneath a plastic casement, for tourists to wonder upon. This little brown circle contains some of the porridge that bubbled forth the Gettysburg Address, some of them must think to themselves, perhaps snapping a picture.

Sometimes the president's brain conspires to do itself in. Franklin Delano Roosevelt died of a cerebral hemorrhage, and just seconds before a burst artery did away with the man who was quite possibly the greatest president America ever had, his brain sent the signal to his mouth to say what would become his final words: "I have a terrific headache."

A true Renaissance man, Danny, 25, likes to change it up between the past and the future: He's wearing a Ben Sherman car coat ($199) that he bought at Nordstrom.com, and shoes he bought at the brick-and-mortar Nordstrom (500 Pine St, 628-2111), but he'll also happily shop at thrift stores. He claims Johnny Depp, Adam Levine, and David Beckham as people whose personal style he admires, and in the devil-may-care style of those fashion icons, he uses a controversial word to sum up his personal style: cunty. "'Cunty' is a good thing!" he writes in an e-mail a few days after this photo was taken, further making reference to his "cunty hair."

The word "cunty" has a history dating back at least to the Soho district of London in the early 20th century. Muriel Belcher, a famous lesbian socialite who founded the fabulously ugly Colony Room dinner club, declared that the word "cunt" was an abusive slur, but that "cunty" was a term of endearment. She would frequently pepper her conversations with the word, and she'd often delight in people's disgusted reactions.

Recently, Jennifer Hutt and Alexis Stewart, hosts of a two-hour radio show on the Sirius satellite radio network called Whatever with Alexis and Jennifer, have claimed to coin the catchphrase "Ewww, cunty!" Their efforts to promote the word have proved significantly less effective than Belcher's. But in an episode of HBO series The Sopranos, James Gandolfini, performing as main character Tony Soprano, once shouted: "Why don't you have a lime rickey and stop being so cunty?" There's also a popular reggae instrumental backing track, also known as a riddim, named "Cunty Riddim." Clearly, this is a word on the cusp of a major revival.