Finding Free.

Breakfast at Tiffany.

New York City, New York – "Beautiful smile, but I can't pay the rent with it," says an elderly man with a heavy Italian accent.

He doffs a tweed cap as he crosses the subway platform, his hands gesticulating as though drawing a caricature.

"Neither can I," I reply with a chuckle.

Not much in this city is cheap – not talk, not even the knock-off Gucci purses and faux high-end watches unceremoniously pulled from garbage bags and laid out on sidewalks. The packaging is a metaphor.

Fifth avenue is certainly no place to look for discounts. Its store windows, however, are beautifully animated for the holidays and come to life in sharp angles of colour and glitter. Bears dance the can-can behind the glass.

Bergdorf: good, man.

Having also wandered through Central Park, we stop at Judge Roy Bean for a beer and to toast my favourite young lady's birthday from afar. 

A sparkling silver purse sits on the patio table like the disco ball that will soon fall in Times Square to usher in the new year. We hand it to the server, who asks another table if it belongs to them.

A young woman shrieks in relief, not yet having realized it was gone.

As we prepare to leave, the server tells us the woman's friend has picked up our tab as thanks. "Good karma, and happy holidays," she says with a smile.

On our way home, we stumble upon a bourbon tasting and happy hour at the hotel. Both are free.

In a city this expensive, I'll take it.