An apartment full of boxes, nothing unpacked. A nameless cat, Cat. In NYC yellow cabs. And Tiffany's. If Audrey Hepburn was a punk rocker she would unpack the Cracker Jack, wear it on a chain. Dye her hair, stripes, thick bold, insane. She would play loud music, so loud, the neighbours would complain. Rip on her guitar, Fred darling, Paul baby, George, Playmates in her game. Together they would rob a variety store, with a dog and cat mask; Audrey that punk rocker. What a bad ass! But when it came to true love, Audrey didn’t know what to do. A bona fide punk rocker, Audrey would just get his name in the form of a tattoo.