Dear You,
We drove to the sounds of Foals and Passion Pit. The windy climb made our ears pop. We stopped off for directions and pineapple lumps and the accents made us smile.
T.
Dear You,
It was all so charming and sexy. We dreamt of being one of those alluring Italian women with incredible style. We would smoke thin cigarettes, ride a scooter, wear custom-made blazers, eat pasta off pristine white plates and drink too much espresso.
T.