“You let him ride a bicycle?” Tony asked, incredulous, his voice booming from the speakers of his isolation pod.

“He wanted to,” Dr. Jill Biden said petulantly. She fingered the stethoscope around her neck nervously.

“Nothing can happen to him before midterms,” came Kamala’s adenoidal whine.

“I fucking know that!” Dr. Biden snarled.

“We have gun control, I mean gun safety, I mean commonsense gun legislation to pass,” Kamala said. “I don’t want all those crackers to have guns when I’m trying to run for President.”

“Ladies, if there is nothing else, I have another pandemic to start working on,” Tony said.

“You stay right there,” Dr. Jill Biden, Real Doctor™ said to the condensate fogging the pod’s faceplate.

“I like bicycles,” Joe said, limping into the room, his arm around Karine, her twisting to keep his dangling hand off her breasts.

“Thank you, Kamala,” he said and tried to kiss her before she dropped him in an overstuffed chair.

Karine riffled through the binder she was carrying for a long moment, Kamala and Dr. Jill rolling their eyes forcefully before the press secretary finally said, “You’re welcome, sir.”

“How are you, Mr. President?” Tony asked, the manipulators of the pod snapping open and closed.

“I’m fine, Tony,” Joe said. “I feel like a young man again, like I’m barely over 60.”

“What was in that shot you gave him?” Kamala asked the isopod.

“Yohimbine and a little dab of fentanyl, just to keep everything loose,” the speakers said, crackling with distortion.

“Fentanyl?” Karine asked.

“Do not put that in your binder!” Kamala ordered. “In fact, just get out of here, Sideshow Bob.”

“Don’t be mean to Blackberry,” Joe said, trying to to catch Karine’s hand as she trotted out of the room, her face screwed up in a brewing sob.

“Joe!” Kamala snapped. “Stop calling her that! You are going to do it in public and you will get in trouble!”

“Yes, Carmela,” Joe said, smelling his hand that had come so close to Karine’s breast.

“The yohimbine might be too much,” Tony said. “It can stimulate sexual appetite.”

“That’s the last thing that horny old goat needs,” Dr. Jillden Bidill said. “I’m taking over all his medication needs. I’m a doctor, dammit.”

“I want to go back to the beach,” Joe said. “This is no fun anymore.”