Clear skies, Toronto. At home writing newspaper columns. And mixing cocktails. Listening to the Honeymoon Lana Del Rey album

We'd very much like to marry her... though our wedding night would probably be the best night's sleep she ever had. She'd be rarely troubled. We'd curl her hair into those long, languid waves. And we'd prepare her lip gloss brushes with gloopy glean to ensure she remained picture perfect pout ready at every moment. We just swoon when we look at her. In a dreamy, foggy, hazy, smoky, dusty road trip in LA type of way. We wanna be her bad ass boys, her molls. Where do we apply?