About forty years ago, a fellow who gave his name as Cooper hijacked an airplane, and escaped with two hundred thousand dollars by parachuting out the back of the plane. He has not been seen from that day to this, although lately, there have been more than a couple of people stepping forward to claim that their dead husband, or their crazy cousin, or even their transgender best friend did the deed.
There's a kind of romantic quality to the crime, of course; a mystery for the ages, even though the sure bet is on this Cooper person going into the ground like a tent peg following his night jump into the wilds of Washington State, and two hundred thousand smackers nothing more now than wet pulp.
Crazy.
Since then, of course, 'crazy' has become something more foul. Crazy has gone from extorting money from corporations to shooting each other for athletic shoes. Or knifing each other because the voices said they were evil. Or, simply killing somebody in the aisle of a Walmart with an aluminum bat because they were....well..in the aisle of the Walmart.
As far as hijacking goes...well, we've seen how bad it can turn out....airplanes make dandy weapons when all you want is to make a misguided point. But I don't believe I have stepped onto an airplane in the years since that fateful morning thinking that this was going to be my last day on earth.
But I'm beginning to wonder about walking into a Walmart.
*For the word 'drugs', you may substitute 'hope.'
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