input: TEXT: Chick: It's not all kitchen scraps. It is one-third kitchen scraps. It is two-thirds browns, which are leaves, hay, straw, sawdust. But, you know, we're low on browns 'cause folks don't bring us browns. So who's our browns guy? Chick: Well, we get donations from the woodshop, but, you know, we're always in need of browns. All right. Let's see what we can do about it. Chick: We used to have a compost guru. - Ernie. - Oh yeah? He set this whole operation up. He educated all the gardeners, on greens, on browns, ratios, you know, all of that. And then, there was one Sunday and he was... He was comin' in and he was carrying these coffee grounds from the café across the street, and he stopped right there. Right there. And we just all said, "What's the matter, Ernie? What's the matter?" And, uh, he didn't say anything. He just looked at us with his bug eyes and then he just keeled over and died. Oh my God, that's so sad. Yeah. But you know what? He was very excited about being compost when he died, and he got his wish. - So that's nice. Yeah. - The Guy: Yeah, that's nice. - I didn't know you could do that with your remains. - Oh yeah. But he's not in this compost, is he? Oh. He's all over the garden! You're joking, right? Yeah. Yeah. I'm joking. - Okay. - Mm-hmm. I'm jokin'! - Funny. - (phone chimes) And so it begins. All right, Chick. I gotta go see a man about, um... - Chick: A horse? - Sellin' him some weed. - Oh. You're welcome. - Uh... Thank you, Chick. Is this your dog? Oh my
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output: <extra_id_0> The Guy finds a lost canine. A new reporter at This American Life, Yara pitches a story about her parents' marriage and inadvertently strains her own relationship when her boyfriend Owen visits for their anniversary weekend. A singing telegram in a bad mood looks for some relief while crisscrossing the city on a crazed workday.<extra_id_1>