When I was a kid riding around town with my dad and we passed some particularly fine piece of domestic architecture along the way with a spiffy little Morgan in the driveway, he didn't say, "Fucking rentiers sucking the working man's blood." He was more likely to say something like, "You think those guys have a dog? I could get in at the second floor easy, but a dog would make it a problem."
But sometimes he'd say, "You know, sonny? If you work hard and play by the rules, you can own a place like that one day. In fact you can own three or four of them. Then you can flip [jump]