The Last to Know

Cecil loved his accordion. He tried other instruments and never felt comfortable with them. But this one he seemed to meld with. He actually got a full scholarship to Oberlin College to study the intricacies of this wondrous instrument. Eventually he was accepted into the Boston Pops Symphony, the first accordion player to be so honored.
He worked out at the gym to strengthen his back and shoulder so he could play with more verve. In five years he never missed a performance.
So it was with shock and disbelief that he received the news that because of budget cutbacks his contract would not be renewed. Cecil was in tears. How would he pay his rent? All he knew was his instrument. He wound up moving back in with his parents living in Weehawken, NJ.
He began drinking, sleeping late, putting on weight and generally falling into slovenliness. He cut himself off from friends and family.
One day he decided he had to pull himself together. After a month of cold turkey, and renewed practice, he got on a bus to the city and stationed himself in parks, accompanying laid off opera singers after the NYC Opera had gone bankrupt.
Authorities, after listening to this collaboration, decided to pay them to keep performing, calculating that the cacophony of noise would keep terrorists at bay.
Cecil wasn't totally happy with this situation, but at least he was widening his audience. Sometimes he even takes requests.

Bombs Away

The pilot, co-pilot, navigator and bombardier gathered in the cockpit. We are doing only what's needed, the pilot said. The co-pilot agreed. Society can't call itself civilized if it tolerates their existence, he said. This mission will soften them up for the land invasion, added the navigator.
Only the bombardier was silent.
Are you having second thoughts, asked the pilot.
My cousin plays the oboe, replied the bombardier. I worry this sort of action will spread.
Nonsense, barked the co-pilot. This is a one time mission. Those down there chose to do what they do. No one forced them. Every day they commit artistic blasphemy.
This will give hope to future generations, said the navigator. Two minutes to target.
How stupid could they be to clump together like that, knowing public opinion? muttered the pilot.
Thousands of feet below, ensconced in a sprawling building, hundreds of accordion players gathered for their yearly convention.
The crew knew if this was successful, if the battle was won by ground forces, cabaret singers would be next. Even the bombardier approved of that.