I walked my boss’ pet past row after row of expensive Northern California real estate. One of these houses was worth more than I would make in a dozen lifetimes.
The lumbering beast was recalcitrant, rubbing up against a withering palm tree. I tugged on the leash. Not too hard, but urgent enough for the animal to get the message.
These multimillionaires had more than they knew what to do with, and they just frittered it away on fancies. Still, I couldn’t complain. They kept me employed.
“C’mon boy,” I said, leading the cloned dinosaur back to its owner’s palace.

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