Janet Reno, shuffling and spasming down the hallway, muttering things to herself like "Miami sucks. Viva Fidel. That payoff better be ready or else. mmmummblemummblemummble". Almost everyone's gotten used to this by now. And those that have'nt take comfort in knowing that regardless of the outcome of the elections, she'll be cleaning out her desk by this time next year anyway.
Seeing a few of her underlings standing at break around the coffeepot, and she raises a quirky-jerky hand to greet them as she shuffles by.
She sees them looking at her very oddly. Sure, she's almost grown accustomed to having them look at her odd. But this was a certain kind of odd. Not even the "Oh my God! You killed Koresh! You bastard!" look she used to get.
This was a peculiar look they gave her. One of respect for a superior, but also with a tint of amusement. One of them even was biting his lower lip, as if he was trying desparately to contain something that was boiling up inside of him, ready to burst out.
Still, she thinks nothing of it, and shuffles on towards her office, resuming her mutterings. Even as she closes the door and faintly hears a sudden outburst of belly-laughs down the hall where she walked, she prefers to lock it and reach into her desk for her love letter from Castro and takes advantage of her continiously vibrating fingers.