Everyone knows Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks, even if they don’t actually know the title or artist of the 1942 painting:
Nighthawks is either iconic or cliché, depending on how you look at it. On its own, it’s great. Unfortunately, it has inspired and endless stream of schlock, like this:
Not as bad as velvet paintings of Elvis, not as good as Dogs Playing Poker
Seriously, not sure who buys this stuff. Although I’m strangely taken with the anteater remix:
$#%!@ you, New York!
Anyway, I was driving down John R the other day and, while stuck at a stoplight, this scene just sort of fell into place. Fortunately I had my cell phone camera ready. I call it Nightcracks:
The guy in the middle really brings it all together
It’s either a celebration of the late-night, blue collar greasy spoon culture or a bleak examination of America’s obesity epidemic. You decide.
If I stop there I’ll remember not to choose that stool….