I was dismissed from my post at the hotel, and then I walked off the job on a demolition crew. As if on cue, I was offered a dogsitting gig back down on the Peninsula.
The house was in Manzana Park, an upscale section of town bordered by the Manzana Hills to the West and Burlingame to the North. The dog was an elderly Irish Wolfhound who mostly slept and…
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