Barry looked at the two pictures, stunned. "They're both you?"
  "Hmm. If you say so. Follow me inside if you like." And he strained to get up, leaning heavily on the woman, cracking a drum solo as he rose.
  "What about her?"
  "Leave her. She's not here."
  Inside the Shady Oaks, a young man in a tuxedo whirled away on a keyboard to the amusement of the octogenarians on oxygen sitting in a semicircle of wheel chairs around him.
  "What shall I play next," he asked, spinning on the stool to face them.
  "Bon Jovi." "Bruuuuuce." "Depeche Mode" came the calls.