The last of the clothes had been dropped off at the Crystal City Salvation Army, and as much as she missed the whisper of Armani over her shoulders the old hoodies and jackets felt warm and comforting.
One thing was for sure–she wouldn’t miss the bitches in Washington.
Her aides’ affection was some comfort,
As was the knowledge that her sense of style had survived the last six weeks of hell.
Screw them all – she was going home.