Abramoff also had to check his black raincoat and black fedora at the door. He’s still sporting a monochromatic look, but in a different shade: “Institution-issued green pants, green shirt, belt, socks, underwear and institution shoes or personal tennis shoes.” At least he can look forward to meaningful work, like laboring in the prison kitchen for pennies an hour. He’s got food service experience, sort of. On the outside, Abramoff could often be found at table 40 in Signatures, his D.C. restaurant, where he wined and dined Republican heavies. Camp chow might not measure up–but Uncle Sam will still let him order kosher..
