10:37 am: Dr. Fauci awakens in the bed he used to share with his wife, Christine, before Anthony forced her to move out in compliance with his social distancing mandate. Fauci has yet to give Christine a reliable timetable on when she can return.
10:38 am: Fauci peers out his bedroom window to see thousands of American citizens dressed in black packed together like sardines as they march with reckless abandon down a street that was empty just days ago.
“Six feet!” Fauci yells sheepishly out his window to deaf ears. A brick from the foundation of a restaurant no longer in business is hurled within inches of his head. A feeling of terror washes over Fauci but is immediately replaced by gratitude for the one person who is still recognizing his existence.
11:06 am: Fauci takes his mid-morning dump before realizing yet again that he’s been out of toilet paper for nine days. Christine would’ve ensured he never run out of basic essentials, but love is a liability in cataclysmic times.
11:27 am – 12:16 pm: Fauci washes his hands with the fervor of a man who just dismembered another human being.
1:09 pm: Fauci makes his eighth attempt to contact the man who deleted his phone number before Memorial Day.
2:19 pm: Fauci looks out his window to see an older gentleman licking the handle of a freestanding postal service mail receptacle. The man then spits in the face of a nearby woman holding an inhaler. The two embrace passionately before parting ways.
3:12 pm: To relieve the mounting stress, Fauci pleasures himself to the latest edition of the New England Journal of Medicine.
3:13 pm: Fauci allows himself one cigarette, a necessary vice he smokes semi-successfully through his medical mask.
6:16 pm: Fauci polishes off an entire bottle of Dr. McGillicuddy’s, convincing himself it’s okay to get blind drunk as long as its in the company of a medical professional.
7:48 pm: Fauci takes to social media.
An irredeemable tweet for any public figure, but thankfully Fauci has lost all his followers in the past 72 hours so no one actually saw it.
8:21 pm: Fauci watches Contagion for the fifth time this week, a movie he once viewed as a calamitous forewarning but now secretly wishes comes true so his last words can be “I told ya so!”
10:21 pm: Fauci falls asleep with one shoe on before being awaken by the buzz of his Nokia.
10:22 pm: Fauci shakes his head in apathy before falling back to a sleep he doesn’t care to wake up from.