End Table
Curio

Benjamin Franklin Perkins. 1989. Mixed Media. $650

H 25 x 24 x 14"

on the fourth of july, a man named william blake went into a bank and handed this note to the teller: i have a bomb. (in actuality, he'd wired himself with firecrackers. but who's keeping score?) the teller was already chain-smoking, because this was raleigh-durham, and anyone wielding that kind of cash needs a cigarette, or twenty. so, being mid-light when this missive was received, her hands weren't quick with the emergency button, which blake later appreciated and would've thanked her for, had he not been stuffing his pockets full of money. maybe it was the bank's own fault. after all, what kind of unpatriotic bank stays open on the fourth? and what kind of sadistic manager leaves a bank in the charge of a single (chain-smoking) teller and a security guard who takes a two-hour lunch? but we are not here to pass judgment on a bank. we are here to pass judgment on a bank robber. william blake never got a break in his life, and why should he now? let me remind you: there is no such thing as a free lunch, and certainly not for honest banks that are just trying to keep their doors open and their rates low. but now william blake felt what some people wait their whole lives to feel: adrenaline, the magic stuff that resuscitates the soul, opens the eyes, clears the senses. he finally had what every man in america wants, and you cannot ask for more: hope in his pocket. it was good to be alive, at least for the twenty-eight minutes he had left, for this story ends in a car chase and the stray bullet that he caught with his heart.

j. s-o'c