SERIOUS MOVES AT JEFFERSON PARK

On a Monday morning, as we walked through Jefferson Park on our morning commute, we saw you, a young woman in your 20s, dancing in the empty soccer field. You've got some serious moves. In the short minute or so that we watched you, you performed balletic tour jetés, the world's most graceful crab walk, and some good ol' fashioned twerking. We have no idea what music was going through your headphones, but as we passed by, listening to Rihanna's album Anti on our own headphones, we had just one thought: Work work work work work work, girl.

UNLESS YOU'RE AN ALGORITHM, THIS IS UNFORGIVABLE

We heard a brief segment of your DJ set in Moe Bar on Friday night, which consisted of a segue from Digital Underground's "The Humpty Dance" into Bell Biv DeVoe's "Poison." Now, both of those songs are great party jams. However, this is 2016 and we expect a bit more depth and exploratory boldness from our DJ selections—even on a Friday night on Capitol Hill. Do you know how utterly lazy you sounded playing these 26-year-old tracks back-to-back, as millions of DJs before you have done?

HOVERBOARD IN GAS WORKS PARK

On a sunlit afternoon at Gas Works Park, we saw you, over and over again. You weren't there to picnic or sunbathe or splay out on the grass and smoke weed with friends. You were doing something wholly unique: standing on a two-wheeled hoverboard and zooming around on the park's paved walkway—up and down, around and around—while speaking on your cell phone and wearing a helmet. You did this for hours. As we hung out at the park, you kept rolling in and out of view, above and below the horizon lines, always talking on your phone, always moving. You—along with the two (two!) drones flying overhead—were not annoying in the least: On the contrary, you made the park more interesting. Do your thing.

EAVESDROPPING ON YOUR CONVERSATION ON THE SIDEWALK

On a Friday afternoon while walking on 11th Avenue, you—a young woman and a young man—were talking about traveling to Boston. Ever since a friend had mentioned Boston the other day, you, the woman, couldn't stop thinking about going. You, the man, agreed that going to Boston would be "amazing," but added that you couldn't think of a single thing that you would want to see or do there. After a few moments, you said, "Oh, I know where I'd go! I'd go see that big bell, you know, the one with the crack in it." Up until that moment, because the two of you were walking behind us, you had only been heard and not seen by us. And we decided to keep it that way, for fear that if we turned around to look at you, we'd find ourselves screaming, "It's the Liberty Bell and it's in fucking Philadelphia!"

ALL THE FEELS OUTSIDE THE COURTHOUSE

The sun had finally emerged from its hibernation, and we saw you celebrating by standing against the King County Courthouse building, and—there's really no delicate way to say this—openly groping, rubbing, squeezing, and otherwise worshipping your pregnant companion's breasts. And you, pregnant companion, seemed to be enjoying it, too. We felt bad for staring but were incapable of looking away, since you were (a) at a bus stop, and (b) utterly flagrant. Lots of other people did a better job of pretending to avert their gaze, but we just gawked at you, as if you were the shower scene in an '80s teen sex film.

SHOUTING "FUCK" WITH EVERY STEP OUTSIDE STARBUCKS

You were a young man with wild hair and very baggy pants who was shouting "FUCK" with every limping step you took near the Starbucks on Olive and Summit on Saturday afternoon. When a man ran by you, you started barking: "Why are you fucking running, man?! You fucking afraid of me?! Why is everybody afraid of me?! Fuck!" Maybe because you agitatedly bellow the word "fuck" all the time? On Sunday, we saw you again, we think, doing the same "FUCK" routine with every step over the Denny I-5 overpass, but your hair was short this time. Unless we're mistaken, you'd gotten a haircut, but not an attitude change—although you didn't seem to be limping anymore.

RELIEVING THE BOREDOM OF THE BUS

Public transit can be crowded and dreary, but you, a King County Metro bus driver—you were changing all of that through sheer force of personality. As you drove the bus down Highway 99, you served as a theatrical narrator and guide, using the intercom to announce, with singsong enthusiasm, nearby markets and destinations. You drove fast. You stuck your muscle-bound arm out and ticked off street after street as if you were playing some kind of video game. When a young mother and her child got on the bus, you watched them closely in your rearview mirror, waited patiently until they were settled, called out to make sure they were secure, and then stepped on the gas. You were awesome, and the world needs more public bus drivers like you.