“I will never go to prison,” Donald said darkly, his red face edging into stroke territory. “Never. I have the damned prison burned down before they send me to it.”

“It doesn’t really work like that, Donald,” the hair said.

“There are more than one, you know,” the hat said. Their voices were becoming hard for Donald to distinguish.

“I’ll have them all burned down,” Donald grumbled petulantly.

“We have to fly back to New York in a couple of days,” the hair said.

“My persecution is totally historonic,” Donald said. He stood from his desk, pulled off his pants and threw them into the corner of the room and sat back down “Fucking pants. I can’t think when I’m wearing any.”

“Historonic?” the hat mouthed to the hair. The hair shrugged with delicate hair shoulders.

“New York City, Donald,” the hat said, “It’s for, uh, that woman.”

“I would never fuck anyone that looked like that,” Donald said.

“I know you wouldn’t, Donald,” the hat said, “But don’t say that in your disposition this time.”

“I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t fuck anyone that ugly,” Donald insisted. “Why can’t I tell the truth in court? I mean, she gets to lie.”

“Just answer the questions they ask with the minimum information,” the hair said, “And listen to your lawyer.”

“So Alina is going to be there?” Donald asked, a slow grin spreading.

“No,” the hair said, “Taking your hot lawyer would be a provocation. We’ve hired some land whale from South Carolina.”

“Not a dime, she doesn’t deserve a dime of mine,” Donald said. “That I would even flirt with that hag is absurd. AB-SURD. And rape her in Bergdorf-Goodman’s? That’s a terrible place to rape someone.”

“Alina will be with you for your next J6 deposition,” the hair said.

“I told you not to call it J6,” the hat said coldly. “That’s their term.”

“The Patriot’s Parade and BBQ,” the hair replied, rolling his hairballs at the ceiling.

“I hate going to New York,” Donald said, digging deep to scratch himself. “Whathisname and that other guy have ruined the place. You can’t even ride the subway anymore.”

“You never rode the subway,” the hair said.

“But I couldn’t now if I wanted to,” Donald groused. “I should ride the subway. I’m a man of the people.”

“And we have to go back to Iowa,” the hat said.

“They’re all so fat,” Donald whined. “And have milk gravy for blood.”

“Lymphatic fluid, it’s their lymphatic system that’s made out of gravy,” the hat said.

“Disgusting!” Donald said.

“Keep those comments to yourself,” the hair said. “It’s a shithole, but it’s their shithole.”

“New York is a shithole, but it’s their shithole,” the hat said.

“Florida’s a shithole, but it’s their shithole,” the hair said.

“Our shithole,” the hat said. “It’s our shithole.”

“Wake me up when it’s time to go,” Donald said. He grabbed the hat and jammed it on his head. The hat yelped as his bill was pulled down over Donald’s eyes.