How Much Do You Make?

Kitsuné has decided the “school pictures” on the temple’s web site need refreshing, so Wheel and Other help Firefly light a makeshift studio in a library storage room.

Wheel says, “I remember the day my ex asked me how much I made.”

“Heh. That’s one of those ‘don’t make any sudden moves’ moments. Hold this,” Firefly says, handing Wheel a small bag.

“It was fair. We’d been together a while. But … think about that question. ‘How. Much. Do. You. Make?’ They’re not asking how much beauty you make. Or how much wisdom. Or joy. Or peace.”

“Or love, or understanding.” Firefly experiments with light positions. He tells Wheel to sit on the stool in front of the camera. He moves a stand and fiddles with some settings. “This is one of the nicer closets I’ve done a shoot in,” he says.

“Know what else?” Other says. “Everyone asks where you’re from, but nobody ever asks where you’re to.”

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