Professional identity.

You must share our heroes. You must covet our trophies. These are our culture. You’ll never receive them, we’ll see to that. And if you don’t seek them fruitlessly, we’ll never pretend intentions to initiate. We are purebred, sunken noses, labored breathing. Drool and chin. We are the line you must fall in, wait in.

You will eat breadcrumbs.

If you best us at our own game, we’ll hold you up. We’ll claim you with our trophies. We’ll force them upon you. We’ll smear our polish on your skin, on your fingertips. You won’t want us.

You’re ours now. You were always ours.