"I am always drawn back to places where I have lived, the houses and
their neighborhoods. For instance, there is a brownstone in the East
Seventies where, during the early years of the war, I had my first New
York apartment. It was one room crowded with attic furniture, a sofa and
fat chairs upholstered in that itchy, particular red velvet that one
associates with hot days on a tram. The walls were stucco, and a color
rather like tobacco-spit. Everywhere, in the bathroom too, there were
prints of Roman ruins freckled brown with age. The single window looked
out on a fire escape. Even so, my spirits heightened whenever I felt in
my pocket the key to this apartment; with all its gloom, it still was a
place of my own, the first, and my books were there, and jars of pencils
to sharpen, everything I needed, so I felt, to become the writer I
wanted to be."
-Breakfast at Tiffany's by Truman
Capote
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