When I moved to New York, my first job was working in a prison, Arthur Kill, on Staten Island, as the editor of the NYS Department of Corrections literary magazine for the whole state, as well as a facility newspaper. It was a fun job. And because the reporters could carry a camera and take pictures, a lot of people wanted to be part of it, since taking a picture to send home (PR, personal outreach, mending fences) was a very valuable item to trade for. So the photojournalists had a lot of juice.
I liked to watch the revenue streams in this world without money (mostly). Beside pictures, cigarettes was a popular form of currency. If you could be generous, casual, magnanimous with your cigarettes (and what else was there to do besides smoke?), there was evidence that you had leverage, influence, maybe actual resources. You were someone to know. I don't smoke, but I did there, just to be part of this economy. It was blessed to give and to receive. You shared the burden of time, a resource that was like water to a fish. You didn't notice it. It was all around you. You all were suspended in it.
When I step back, it feels like comments serve the same purpose here. Getting or giving, it's what we exchange, a token of our attention. It's how we've come to measure our shared existence within these walls. This may be mythologizing a bit. I know most people just go down the list, dropping the hearts like they're doing the dishes, getting through a chore, but sometimes one will stand out.
You both light up. And for a moment it's all good.
