LANGUISHING AT THE LENDING LIBRARY

On a Friday evening in March, we were jogging up 18th Avenue East when we saw a house-shaped, yellow-painted free-book library perched in someone's yard between Prospect and Aloha. Usually, free book piles are all garbage, and there was plenty of garbage in there, like a baby-blue book called Lone Star Holiday and a pink book called Reunited for the Holidays, but to our surprise, there was actually a good book in the lending library, too: Dune by Frank Herbert! We almost took it with us, but we didn't want it to get all sweaty. When we jogged past the lending library a few weeks later, in April, Dune had been taken, unsurprisingly. But we saw an adorable cat sitting on a fence beam, as if keeping protective watch over the Little Free Library operation (littlefreelibrary.org is based in Wisconsin, but there are other little free libraries throughout the city). One month, two months, three months have gone by, and you know what's still languishing in that lending library? Lone Star Holiday and Reunited for the Holidays. Oh yeah, and Kevin Trudeau's The Weight Loss Cure, which hasn't budged in more than a month. We're not big on book burning, but c'mon—these are not real books. These books need to go away. Do you want a free copy of The Weight Loss Cure? Go get it! Now! Next time we jog past, if we see any of these unwanted books in there, we're going to take them out and put them where they belong—in the trash.

DOG LICKS LITTLE KID BY A LAKE

On a hot and sunny Friday evening, you, an Airedale terrier named Moses with a graying coat of fur and a beaded collar, were cavorting along the shores of Lake Washington near Mount Baker Park Beach. It was obvious that you overflow with affection, as demonstrated by your determined licking of a naked toddler also cavorting in the grass. You licked her cheeks and her nose, then her neck and shoulders, which tickled her and caused her to tumble gleefully onto the grass. Once she was down, you proceeded to bathe her in even more kisses, only stopping when dragged away by your person. You are no longer a young man, Moses, but your energy as a lover has obviously not diminished.

CLINTON CONSPIRACIES IN A DOWNTOWN THEATER

You were an older couple sitting in the second row in the Bullitt cabaret at ACT Theatre, waiting for Bernie's Apt. to begin. "Did you hear the Clintons have murdered 46 people who have been close to them during the last 30 years?" one of you said. "Where did you hear that?" the other asked. "Fox News. Said they all died of mysterious circumstances," you answered. "How can you stand it?" the other asked. "I think it's kind of fun," you answered. There was no way to tell whether you both were in on the joke or whether your hatred for Clinton was tempting you to embrace conspiracy theories, except, of course, the fact that you were sitting for a play about urban, immigrant Latina women and girls struggling to keep their family together in a theater on a Thursday night in Seattle.

RICH GUY WITH SCULPTED HAIR

On a Sunday morning at the Central Co-op on Capitol Hill, you—a young man with a sculptural blond haircut and sculpted beard wearing jeans and a dark sweater that probably cost more than our car—made small talk with a checkout clerk. "'Sup?" you asked him. "Not much. You?" the clerk replied. "Just kicking butt," you said, nodding confidently. "Hmm. Yeah, I'm not really doing that," the clerk said. "Awesome," you said, still talking about yourself, to no one in particular.

PORTLANDER ARRIVES AT KING STREET STATION

You stepped off the bus at King Street Station and asked a person walking a dog where you could find a good coffee shop. You wore hip athleisure clothing and your blond hair had been pulled up in a messy bun. You lived in Portland, you said, but you were thinking of moving to Seattle. Things are just so expensive in Portland, where you paid $1,200 (!) for a studio. You eventually discovered a coffee shop—and presumably the fact that Seattle's housing market is just as crazy, if not crazier, than Portland's.

JAYWALKER RISKS EVERYTHING FOR SHADES

We saw you jaywalking across East Madison Street, moving at appropriately full speed given the way cars barrel down that arterial. You had no time for crosswalks. You were dashing. Your dash had you hunched over in exertion—and because of this, your aviator sunglasses fell out of your breast pocket and onto the roadway. You stopped, your speediness suddenly overtaken by dumb vanity, and turned back around, facing the ground, not even looking to check how far any cars might be from your flesh and bones. You carefully picked up your shades. They were nice shades, we'll give you that, but you were damn lucky that you lived to run the rest of the way across that road.

YOUR DOG ON THE PATIO OUTSIDE SIZZLE PIE

We saw you at Sizzle Pie, a new pizzeria with a big patio that feels perfect in nice weather. You had your dog with you, and it was a polite dog, but it was also a huge dog. Like, Saint Bernard huge. It was well behaved; that's not our issue. In fact, we don't have an issue, we just could not escape noticing, because it was right in our line of sight, that your huge dog has HUGE balls that are out-of-scale-large for even its very, very big body. And to say your dog is hung like a horse would understate the situation. Just wanted to let ya know.