There is NOTHING like The Grind, my guy. Nothing like having my boiz line up outside the conference room, tapping our sensitive little balls over The Big Merger, making eye contact with The Big Boss as he gives me a slow nod from his office. Nothing like laughing at the betas who don’t have what it takes to climb their way to the top. Nothing like knowing some of these fuckos are driving home in a Mustang while I’m getting my balls drained in a Bugatti. Nothing like making enough money to carelessly buy a boat. Nothing like naming her Money Never Sleeps, never using her, not even once. Nothing like calling my dad and getting his voicemail, whispering, “I did it, Dad, I did it,” to an almost full mailbox. Nothing like NOT CRYING, NOT ONE SINGLE TEAR, NOT A MOMENT OF WEAKNESS, JUST STRENGTH, RESOLVE, AND ADDERALL. Nothing like pantsing the new guy as I pass him on the way to the break room, ignoring the voice in my head that murmurs, “Apologize.” Nothing like chest bumping our CFO Rick and yelling “WINNERS DON’T SAY SORRY” until our throats taste like blood. Nothing like responding to emails from HR with “lol.” Nothing like ripping eight to ten Nespresso Redbull shots and texting my Alphas Group Chat the champagne bottle emoji, middle finger emoji, sunglasses emoji, snow emoji, gun emoji, and baby bottle emoji. Nothing like making sure my phone isn’t in Do Not Disturb mode in case Dad calls me back. Nothing like dialing him one more time, letting it ring, and immediately following it up with, “Sorry, butt dial.” Nothing like STILL NOT CRYING, A WARRIOR SPIRIT AND A COCK THAT COULD CUT GLASS. Nothing like loosening our Thom Browne ties and saying fuck it to the rest of the day, to the rest of our lives. Nothing like skipping afternoon meetings to do a celebratory line of coke at Tao. Nothing like hoping we stay out all night, that I never go home, not unless I’m blitzed enough to ignore the smell of the rotting Wagyu steaks in my otherwise empty fridge. Nothing like getting a nosebleed, raising my head, and meeting myself in the bathroom mirror. Nothing like being surprised by what I see. Nothing like losing track of time, getting lost in a face that I no longer recognize, following the drip drip drip of the sink to the sounds of the ocean, feeling the waves lap against my small toes digging into the sand, looking up at my dad, his head blotting out the sun, his strong voice telling me it’s time to learn how to swim, it’s time to be brave. Nothing like feeling safe in his arms as the surf pushes against us, thinking that he may topple over, but he doesn’t, he stands tall and he holds me tight. Nothing like pushing off against his torso, going under the salt water, kicking my hairless little legs the way we practiced in our neighbor’s backyard pool. Nothing like looking up through the water towards the sun, not seeing my dad’s head, not seeing him at all, knowing that he’s left me, that I am alone in the ocean, gasping for air, eating water, eating salt. Sinking. Dying. Disappearing. Suddenly being pulled out by my left arm, pulled up towards the light, breaching the surface, choking, coughing up water, so much water. Seeing the sun, being carried to shore, my father completely silent. Silent for the rest of the day. Silent for the rest of my life. Knowing something is now broken between us. Knowing that a hole in him is an abyss in me. Wanting to go back to the ocean, retrieve whatever was lost, put back together what we were, prove that I am still his strong brave boy, his one and only son—NOTHING like my boi Razz punching me on the back of my neck and telling me to “SNAP OUT OF IT HOT SHOT.” Nothing like chasing the rabbit back out to the bar. Nothing like cheersing ice-cold Goose with the boiz. Nothing like the call and response of “FUCK YOU” and “THAT’S MY NAME.” Nothing like ignoring that they are also sad and filled with shame that they mistake for heartburn. Nothing like our competing Stewie impressions filling the now-empty room. Nothing like the lights turning off and the security guard telling us it’s time to leave. Nothing like threatening to buy the bar, the man’s house, the man’s life. Nothing but pity in his eyes. Nothing like him knowing we’re not worth it. Nothing like one of my boiz muttering, “Did anyone’s dad pick up the phone today?” Nothing like all of us whispering, “No.” Nothing like the silence that follows. That’s The GRIND baby, there ain’t nothing like it.