The bank robber communicated his intentions through a series of notes to the bank teller. With a pistol in one hand, he handed her the first bank robbery note, which stated: This is a bank holdup because money is just like time and I need more to keep on going, so keep your hands where I can see them and don’t go pressing any alarm buttons or I’ll blow your head off. The teller, a young woman of about twenty-five, felt the lights along her streets flicker to life for the first time in years. She kept her hands visible and refrained from pressing any alarm buttons. Ah danger, she mused, you are just like love. After reading the note, she returned it to the robber and remarked, "This bank robbery note is far too abstract. I really can’t respond to it." The young man, around the same age, felt the intensity of his thoughts surge as he wrote the next bank robbery with a note. Ah money, he thought, you are just like love. His subsequent note read: This is a bank hold up because there is only one clear rule around here, and that is WHEN YOU RUN OUT OF MONEY YOU SUFFER, so keep your hands where I can see them and don’t go pressing any alarm buttons or I’ll blow your head off. The young woman took the note, lightly touching the gunless hand that wrote it. The sensation of his hand lingered in her memory, becoming a guiding light when she felt lost. It was as if an unseen veil had been lifted, allowing her to see everything clearly. "I think I understand better now," she said to the thief, first looking into his eyes and then at the gun. "But all this money will not get you what you truly want." She gazed deeply into him, hoping to appear rich in his eyes. Ah danger, she whispered to herself, you are the gold that wants to spend my life. The robber began to feel drowsy. In the gun lay the weight of his dreams for this moment that had yet to arrive. The gun felt like the heavy eyelids of someone who yearns for sleep but cannot find it. Ah money, he reflected, I find little bits of you leading to more of you in greater little bits. You promise endless amounts of yourself, but others are coming, threatening our treasure together. I cannot collect you fast enough as you lead into the vast, quiet unknown that you are. Oh money, please save me, for you are desire, pure desire, that seeks only itself. The gunman sensed the gaps within himself piling up, leaving him uncertain about his next move. He began to write again. His next note stated: Now is the film of my life, the film of my insomnia; an eerie bus ride, a trance in the night, from which I want to step down, whose light keeps me from sleeping. In the streets, I will chase the windblown letter of love that will save my life. Give me the money, My Sister, so that I can run my hands through its hair. This is the unfired gun of time, so keep your hands where I can see them and don’t go pressing any alarm buttons or I’ll blow your head off with it. As she read, the young woman felt her inner hands grasping and holding onto this moment of her life. Ah danger, she said to herself, you are yourself with perfect clarity. Under your lens, I know what I want. The young man and woman locked eyes, forming two paths between them. On one path, his life, like little people, moved into hers, and on the other, hers flowed into him. "This money is love," she declared. "I’ll do what you want." She began to place money into the large satchel he had provided. As she emptied it, the bank filled with a tranquil sleep. Everyone else in the bank slept the untroubled slumber of trees that would never be money. Finally, she placed all the cash into the bag. The bank robber and the bank teller left together, like hostages of each other. Though it was no longer necessary, he kept the gun on her, for it was becoming like a child between them.