“Look what they did to my boy,” Donald wailed. “Look what they did to my Rudy!” Donald used a sponge stapled to a broomhandle to wipe away the brown goo running down Rudy’s face.

“I really think he should be in a hospital, Donald,” the hair said, clinging to the back of his jacket collar, peering over his shoulder.

“Nonsense,” Donald shot back. “He needs to be with his family at a time like this.”

“Family?” the hair asked.

“When you run a train on hooker together, you become brothers forever,” Donald whispered hoarsely.

“No gods, no masters,” the hat said proudly. “The only holy thing is sloppy seconds.”

The hair turned, waggled back and forth for a second, and then jumped to a nearby table, landing with a quiet gobble of disgust.

“Will he make it?” Donald asked the hat. “I made it. I shook off the China Virus an easy dozen times.”

Rudy coughed weakly into the CPAP mask engulfing his face, his stacked neck wattles shaking queasily.

“I don’t know, Donald,” the hat said. “He eats so little McDonald’s compared to you he may not have the level of toxins in his blood to fight off the virus like you did.”

“The China Virus, you mean.”

“Yes, the China Virus.”

“Not the Trump Virus.”

“Never the Trump Virus, Donald,” the hat assured him. The hair snorted from his table.

“You said all this would be over if I lost the election,” Donald said to the hat. “You said COVIDs would go away.”

“There’s still the Georgia senatorial race,” the hat replied. “The vaccine was announced five days after the election, after all. That proves they were all in it together to hoax you out of the Presidency. And now they are trying to kill your election lawyer with it.”

“Give him every vaccine, all the vaccines,” Donald said. “I’ve never paid for sex; I need Rudy to live.”

“You’ve never paid for sex?” the hair asked incredulously.

“I always gave Rudy the money first,” Donald said sadly, mopping away more of the brown goo pouring from Rudy’s infected scalp.