TenUnaware of the dance of death just ended in Arthur's shed, Hilda had the community house kitchen in full swing. Occasional bursts of static from her radio jarred and infuriated her, but she was determined to ignore them and dance on. The volume had been high all along but, now, the music could only be described as blaring. She'd tossed away her broom and taken up with a randy mop that whirled her wildly about the room. Over the airwaves, Gene Krupa moved from his manic drums to the string bass, providing the frenetic pizzicato with his sticks, as he flooded the commons with his Big Noise From Winnetka. Hilda was moppin' and boppin'.
Then, out of nowhere, her back cricked.
Hilda all but fell on her face. Her mop, the instant before a rousing dance partner, was suddenly just a crutch –
