Are you renting? Do you own? Where? (I love that neighborhood!). What are you up to this summer? This ski week? This weekend? Where do your kids go to school? They ask, sitting in their sparkling Mercedes, Tesla, Range Rover, or standing in front of their manicured garden, wearing Jimmy Choo shoes. Sometimes I want to answer: I’m renting, Visitacion Valley (where’s that?), working, can’t afford to ski, nothing, random public school. But I don’t, I usually play along, pretend like it matters, wealth, status. Name droppers, social climbers, Facebook vacation photo posters, flakes, the ones who don’t return emails, are SO busy. San Francisco, New York, LA, they are everywhere, at galas donating, sipping malbec, their smiling faces in magazines with page after page of real estate ads. Presidio Heights, Pacific Heights, Sea Cliff, tucked away behind fences, cameras, red and white Bay Alarm signs, safe. Old as time, rich, loaded, moneyed, affluent, well-heeled, well-to-do. I’m an American, I get it, the free market, understand the system, the distance needed between the haves and the nots. But how far is too far? When does our country end, the chasm too wide, American no more, just the rich and the poor?