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There’s no real appeal to gold flakes on chocolate strawberries. They add no flavor, no nutrition, and frankly, they don’t look any better than a white-chocolate drizzle. “Plus, $48 for four?” I say, pressed, as though I’m the one paying the tab. My sugar daddy, John, just laughs.

It’s spring 2017, just over 100 days into Trump’s first term, and we’re sitting in a hot tub at a luxury spa in Richmond, Virginia. Post-massage and pre-facial, we’re celebrating John’s recent move East and his new $400,000 salary. He orders the strawberries off the spa menu like it’s nothing. It is nothing to him.

A spa day is something we’ve never done before. Back in Denver, our me

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