“It’s better to look at the sky than live there. Such an empty place; so vague.”
The old tattered copy of Breakfast at Tiffany’s is nestled safely in my bag, in between Old English poems and apples, ready to pull out at any moment. Every time I do, it’s like visiting an old friend. And I do, a lot: the number of phrases underlined increases every day and the pages are crinkled with affection.
Maybe I have had my head up in the sky for a while, in poetry books and museums and movie nights, and in Glasgow, too.
“Don’t wanna sleep, don’t wanna die, just wanna go a-travellin’ through the pastures of the sky”
Through Bloomsbury, Marylebone, Soho, Chelsea and Southbank, I run along holding on tight to my hat (once the wind blew it off onto the road and a gentleman dove after it in a heroic rescue).
I walk past Tiffany’s in said hat, and call everyone darling. I ask myself: what would Holly Golightly do? I don’t have a bathtub for a sofa but at night we order in some sushi and wine and put on the film, and in the morning I’ll sit on my windowsill and play Moon River.
“You’re wrong. She is a phony. But on the other hand you’re right. She isn’t a phony because she’s a real phony. She believes all this crap she believes.”
I stand outside Tiffany’s, but I don’t go in. I look at the sky and think about floating. Sometimes I get the mean reds and some days I feel like running away from everything I know.
“The mean reds: you’re afraid only you don’t know what of.”
But more than that there is a yearning or a feeling of almost holding something in your hands. A deep blue and a dull gray, a mixture of all things at once; everything is violet and you’re floating through that vague sky.
This is when you need a Tiffany’s. it could be anything. A song; a building full of books.
And sometimes, the overwhelming and wonderful entirety of London is Tiffany’s.
“I don’t want to own anything until I know I’ve found the place where me and things belong together. I’m not quite sure where that is just yet. But I know what it’s like.” She smiled, and let the cat drop to the floor. “It’s like Tiffany’s,” she said.”