With each penny he touched, his hands got dirtier and dirtier. It was his job to painstakingly insect every penny, nickel, dime, and quarter that came to the largest bank in the world. Some would pity his seemingly boring job, yet he found joy in his humble profession. Each coin had a story to go along with it, and each story was so different. The best part was, despite their immensely d different stories, each coin ended in the same place. Day after endless day he examined his coins, looking for imperfections that made them useless. For some strange reason, the damaged coins were his favorite. They had gone through so much to get here. They had been left on the side of the road, stepped on, forgotten, or thrown away like garbage. These days not many humans on this earth respect the value of the coins like he does. He sees their struggles as if they were people that live alongside himself. As he sorts through the tireless mound of coins, he pauses while holding a particularly beautiful one. It had been stripped of its face and perforated edges, leaving it smooth and delicate. It reminded him of his beautiful little cousin that has been struggling with cancer for awhile. He wondered what horrible things this penny had to endure, just like his poor cousin Amita. Despite to coins beauty to him, he has to throw it in the bin marked “Heaven”. This is where his boss instructs him to throw all of the pennies that look too worn, damaged, or even a penny that I feel needs to be relieved from its tiresome job. He loves his job, because he gets to play God, even if it is just coins. As he walks down the street on his lunch break, he feels a vibration in his back pocket, and picks up his phone, only to be told that Amita had passed away minutes before. As he thought about the penny, he wondered.
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