Holly: Sure. Sure. He’s okay. Aren’t you, Cat? Poor old Cat. Poor slob. Poor slob without a name. I don’t have the right to give him one. We don’t belong to each other. We just took up one day. I don’t want to own anything until I find a place where me and things go together. I ‘m not sure where that is, but I know what it’s like. It’s like Tiffany’s.
Paul: Tiffany’s? You mean the jewelry store?
Holly: That’s right. I’m crazy about Tiffany’s. Listen. You know those days when you get the mean reds?
Paul: The “mean reds?” You mean, like the blues?
Holly: No. The blues are because you’re getting fat or it’s been raining too long. You’re just sad, that’s all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you’re afraid, and you don’t know what you’re afraid of. Don’t you ever get that feeling?
Paul: Sure. Some people call it angst.
Holly: When I get it, what does any good is to jump into a cab and go to Tiffany’s. Calms me down right away. The quietness, the proud look. Nothing very bad could happen to you there. If I could find a real-life place that made me feel like Tiffany’s, then… then I’d buy some furniture and give the cat a name…I’m sorry. You wanted something. Oh, the telephone.