The ignominious end of Mr. Wolf A. Mozza

June, 1964, Manhattan.  12:30 p.m.

     Wolf Alexander Mozza was leaving his Madison Avenue office for lunch when a baby grand piano landed on him, severing most of his arteries in the process and killing him almost instantly.  This only occurred because dozens of section pieces of ornate silver lace trim covered virtually the entire piano.  Mr. Mozza was basically shredded by a giant silver screen falling from 9 stories up.
     If it weren't for the fact that this lace trim was made of silver, Wolf may have been salvaged from his unfortunate predicament.  Unfortunately for him, (or would it be fortunately?) werewolves have a horrible reaction when pierced or sliced with silver.
     The owner of said baby grand, Wladziu Liberace, had been in the process of moving into what would be his fourth flat in 3 years in New York, this time right in the thick of it on Madison Avenue.  He simply couldn't be satisfied with any apartment for very long.  The crane that was lifting the piano had just been inspected a week prior, but due to some corner cutting and not a little bribery, this crane was not very thoroughly looked at, and had some serious wear and tear that resulted in the accident at hand.  It was a terrible loss for Wladziu, who had just spent 3 million dollars on the piano.
     It was all the better for Wolf, however, as he had grown extremely bored and tired of his job as head of jingle writing at Seymour, Woods, and Fowler ad agency.  He was the industry's golden child, an amazing wordsmith and melody composer, who had a special knack for inventing three to six second jingles that were so catchy, they'd get stuck in one's head for not just  hours but days.  He had all he could ever want, his net worth was in the seven digit range, he had a lovely wife and two mistresses, and hung out with all the best people in local society. Yet he had been extremely unhappy for a very long time.
     For Mr. Mozza was really none other than, you guessed it, our old friend Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.  He wouldn't have to endure another miserable day of living this preposterous absurd joke of a life!  After all he'd accomplished!  To live as a jingle jockey for an advertising agency.  As his blood poured out of him all over the sidewalk, all he felt was blessed relief, and mocking spite.  The others would have to go on without him, now.  Oh, how angry and jealous they'd be when they found out he'd escaped.