Seattle, we'll never take you for granted again.

Overpriced Drinks

Even though I know the terribly high cost of running a restaurant or bar, I complain constantly about the price of a drink in this city. An $8 pint of lager. Are you fucking kidding? And now, suddenly, I kind of miss it. Not just that I got to be in a bar or restaurant with other people, where I might bump elbows with strangers (such luck!). Sure, I can spend too much on a bottle of wine at the grocery store, but that always feels so premeditated. In a restaurant buying the thing you can’t afford feels light, frivolous, oddly free. —Stefan Milne

Barre Class

I started going to Barre3 after my son was born, willing myself into a grudging routine in an effort to fit my body—happiest when it’s inert—into its pants of yore. Now I long to go somewhere by myself, to spend an hour in microbursts of agony while my brain escapes to roam free and solve whatever random work problems have rattled around its confines all week. Right now the problems feel bigger, and my muscles don’t have much to do, except remind me they don’t enjoy being hunched over video calls. —Allecia Vermillion

Rain

We finally got some! But recent showers followed the driest start to April on record. Wet weather earlier in quarantine would have confined Green Lake frisbee bros and other rebels to their homes, perhaps helping Seattle crush the coronavirus curve a tad sooner. Plus, it's felt awfully cruel of Mother Nature to shine her brightest during one of our darkest, and most socially restricted, times. —Benjamin Cassidy

Commutes

I'm a bit ashamed to admit that I'd grown tired of my commute, since I was lucky to have a glorious one—20 minutes by foot from Capitol Hill into downtown. But the repetition and incessant construction had worn on me, right up until my last trip on March 2. Now I ache to check in on my daily route. How's that Olive Way convention center addition coming? Are there pups in the doggie daycare with the big windows? Any flowers managing to bloom on that stubborn little patch of grass on the I-5 onramp? I never realized how vital my daily dose of city life was; even and especially the sidewalk slow-walkers and bad drivers sneaking in the bus lane and loud noises. And I'm way behind on my podcasts. —Allison Williams

Bad Tinder Dates

Never again will I flee an ill-fated Tinder date with a contemptuous "you can have the rest of my beer." Mostly because I'm now viscerally disgusted by the idea of sharing a sip with a stranger. But also because even the most excruciating dates—the very-hung-up-on-their-ex types, the possibly-still-dating-their-ex types, the incessant whistlers (they're out there)—involve conversation, over drinks that did not emerge from my fridge, from fewer than six feet away. —Zoe Sayler

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