The Class Doesn't Struggle Anymore

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?

Biltmore Hotel, Santa Barbara