Dear Z,
I lobe you. You have a nice ginger beard. You (ma-ma-ma)make me happy. You should move to Boston. Someday I will sing duets from Rent with you. You + me = an unholy terror. If I saw you now I’d probs tackle you. I want to give life advice in a Southern accent to you. I would build a(n) ice sculpture of Sherlock Holmes just for you. If I could sing you any song it would be Jesse’s Girl, probably.
We could be terrified that the noises in the woods are bobcats or, alternately, the police, under the stars.
Love,
D (yep mixing my references DON’T CARE)
(P.S. thanks for bringing Tucker Carlson back into my consciousness tonight.)
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