You finish up your 3 month anniversary dinner. She's choked down 2 mojitos, some sangria, and a sex on the beach. She looks at your with adoration as you beckon her towards the door, holding it open for her.

On the car ride home she insists upon playing Lana Del Ray. She tells you about why Gone Girl is a timeless classic, she couldn't live without pumpkin spice, and how Ryan Gosling was once in a band, a story that she's repeated verbatim at least thrice before.

You arrive at her apartment. She pleads for you to come up and hang out for a bit, insisting that you should "definitely reenact Drunk Kitchen," a Youtube series that she's followed religiously for a few years. She pouts when you politely decline, turning her heels towards her door, Coachella bag swinging at her side as she marches up the steps.

As you get back into your car you you take a long drag of your Newport, revitalizing yourself for the drive home.