TOP OF THE HILL

He had climbed with all of the strength he could muster.

Like a wolf on the hunt; starving, gaunt, ribs exposed…

He had chosen to live.

He had chosen to drive the raw, primitive instinct of survival into each step he took on the steep slope of success. Like a wolf placing each of his four paws, one in front of the other, slowly, silently, stealthily as it tracks its prey, he had worked in the same way from the shadows to do the unthinkable. He had quietly stalked the energy required to become a successful man from the very bottom of the metaphorical hill that all men have to climb as a rite of passage that success demands.

There are no shortcuts.