I want to wake up in your room, in your bed. I want to wake up to that view in your window, the one that overlooks everything below. I want to wake up in your arms, my skin pressed against yours. I want to shower in your bathroom and wash my face in your sink. I want to make you coffee and have toast with you. I want to read the morning paper with you and drive to work with you. I want to have our photo in a frame at the corner of my desk. I want to come home from work to you. I want to hold you and feel you and love you properly. I want to make dinner with you. I want to do the dishes and sort the laundry with you. I want to get ready for bed with you. I want to fall asleep in your arms, and wake up to you anddo everything all over again. I want to be with you.
- Dwight: What is my perfect crime? I break into Tiffany's at midnight. Do I go for the vault? No, I go for the chandelier. It's priceless. As I'm taking it down, a woman catches me. She tells me to stop. It's her father's business. She's Tiffany. I say no. We make love all night. In the morning the cops come and I escape in one of their uniforms. I tell her to meet me in Mexico but I go to Canada. I don't trust her. Besides, I like the cold. Thirty years later, I get a postcard. I have a son and he's the chief of police. This is where the story gets interesting: I tell Tiffany to meet me in Paris, by the Trocadero. She's been waiting for me all these years; she's never taken another lover. I don't care, I don't show up. I go to Berlin. That's where I stashed the chandelier.