Inside One of the Tin Cans in the Giant Tin Can Sculpture in the Courtyard of the Cue Apartment Building on Harvard
They’re clearly not meant to be tin cans, but they look like slightly melted tin cans, and crying inside of them would amplify your tears in such a way so that everyone with their windows open onto Cue’s courtyard could hear you and be moved to give you some of their money. Or maybe a squirt of their extremely expensive hand soap. RICH SMITH

35th Avenue
The carotid artery of some North Seattle neighborhoods is in a state of transition. An in-between. Every day walking past 35th Avenue Northeast is a gamble—will the street be closed for road work? Will your bus show up on time? It’s a contentious place these days. Some people want the construction. It’ll add bike lanes, bikers need to be safe, they say. Others spurn it because, to them, it’s an unnecessary nuisance that will rid 35th of vital street parking and wreak havoc on the neighborhood as a whole. The entire debacle feels like your parents are getting divorced all over again and you can’t help but let the animosity, the uncertainty, sit deeply in your bones. Tears well up. Soon, catharsis. Wouldn’t it be nice to peel back that mound of fresh asphalt and finally, finally, weep? NATHALIE GRAHAM

The Light Rail to Angle Lake
If you need a good cry, I recommend taking the light rail all the way to the end of the line heading south. Most everyone will empty out of the train at the SeaTac station, so hold your tears until then and let them burst forth as the train moves toward the mythically named Angle Lake. There’s no need to exit the train—there are plenty more scenic bodies of water in the city than Angle Lake—but there’s nothing quite like wailing alone on public transit. KATIE HERZOG

One of the Gender-Neutral Bathrooms in the New Hugo House
These tears would be tears of joy, tears celebrating the sheer number of bathrooms now available to the public at the new Hugo House. In the old Hugo House there were only three public restrooms. Now there are nine. NINE. RICH SMITH

The Capitol Hill Whole Foods Elevator
Riding the elevator at Whole Foods, coming down from the upstairs hot bar, because I went there to save a few dollars on lunch, but ended up spending $15.87 on more than a pound of food that I will only like a quarter of but will eat all of and regret 90 minutes later after catching the delectable scent of my colleague’s $10 plate of teriyaki. LEILANI POLK

Machine House’s New Central District Pub
There is no greater beverage to cry into or over than a pint of proper British cask ale. Its quietly nuanced flavors and mild alcohol level softly comfort your grief better than a sweater knitted by your mother, better even than your mother. Finding a pint of bitter to cry into became significantly easier after Machine House Brewery, one of the country’s best producers of real ale, opened up their new pub on Jefferson Street near First Hill. It’s a comfortable place to sob thanks to a blend of English wood paneling and modern exposed concrete, although the lights could be a little bit lower. LESTER BLACK

A Hospital Room at Virginia Mason
This year Virginia Mason introduced three new healthcare providers to their stable: Streaker, Baxter, and Domi, a trio of miniature horses that visit patients every few weeks. The horses, which are provided by the Triple B Foundation in Sultan, Washington, have this funny way of making everyone who spends time with them cry—and not just the patients. Healthcare generally requires somewhat of a stiff upper lip, but when the horses come round, even the most hardened, world-weary doctors and nurses tend to well up and cry. KATIE HERZOG

The New Pike Place Market Extension
The extension of Pike Place Market, because there are so many goddamn swarming bodies everywhere else (it’s Monday at 10 am, where did all these fuckin’ people come from anyway?), but somehow, very few of them ever quite make it out to this particular expanded part of the market, even though it’s the newest part and should be more crowded than everywhere else purely for novelty’s sake, but it’s actually the only spot in the market where you can find any breathing room, a few moments of quiet, and a lovely view of the waterfront to make the end of that cry feel extra magical. LEILANI POLK

In the Parking Lot of Encore Media Group’s Corporate Office at the Corner of 85th and Dayton in Greenwood
Here, you can wipe your tears with old issues of City Arts as you mourn the loss of an institution that published a lot of truly premium Seattle writers. RICH SMITH

The Aesop Store on Pine St.
You can’t justify paying $40 for fucking hand soap, but there you are paying $40 for fucking hand soap. The disparity between what you want, what you need, and what the person next to you can easily buy 12 of starts to widen inside of you until you split apart. And now a beautiful Instagram shop girl, whose complex inner life is obscure to you in this moment, has to sit there and watch you cry while she offers samples of an incredibly expensive post-shave lotion that smells like a Moroccan soup, which you will also have to buy. RICH SMITH

The New Passenger-Only Speed Ferry to Bremerton
The salty spray of a ferry cutting across the Puget Sound provides the perfect cover for an existential meltdown. Even if you find yourself on a busy ferry your misery still becomes muted when you step out on the ferry deck and let the howl of the winter wind cover your bawling. You can respond to any question of “are you crying” with “no those aren’t tears they’re just the remnants of an errant wave.” If you find yourself sitting inside with tears on your face and no waves to blame, just say you were overcome by the sight of Mt. Rainier’s glaciers and the knowledge that those same sheets of ice once carved the depths of the Puget Sound, separating Bremerton’s cheaper rents from Seattle. LESTER BLACK

Inside the Old SR-99 Tunnel
The SR-99 tunnel is not long for this world. Soon, it will be replaced with something newer, something possibly better, something that will at least (most likely) be “quake-safe.” Pff. Upgrades? Overrated. You feel this on a personal level. Why is it that you are so overlooked? So forgotten? You come to the old tunnel to cry because your moans echo back to you off its curved walls. Like it’s crying with you. Somehow, in there, you’re never alone. The tunnel and you get each other, what more is there to it? Aren’t you both cavernously hollow? Empty and irrelevant? Soon, the tunnel will be filled with the corpse of the Alaskan Way Viaduct. It will be choked internally by wedges of concrete and piles of useless rubble. You envy it, because at least it will have a purpose. You’ll still visit in the future. Despite all that rubble, the commute will probably be faster than the new tunnel, that they, for some reason, made to accommodate fewer people. "Suck on that squeeze, Seattle," you think, through your tears. NATHALIE GRAHAM