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Tuesday, 28 April 2009

The Class Doesn't Struggle Anymore

Acres of verdant grounds for croquet or leisurely putting

Why is it so unsurprising that
the little man in the white coat
who drives the small motorized cart
across the manicured putting green
that grows like crushed money
between the bungalows of the Biltmore
doesn’t appear to enjoy the acquaintance
of the thin old man in the Italian sweater
who emerges from one of the bungalows
tugged along by a tiny expensive dog?

The acclaimed Spa, perfumed by breezes from the rose garden

Biltmore Hotel, Santa Barbara

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