Pennies. One cent each. They are truly money but I feel bad for the little copper-colored coins. Often abandoned, they lay destitute in city streets, seen but ignored by passersby. Most cars hide some of them in cracks and crevices, between seats and consoles, and under mats. They are never searched for. Rather, they are simply left alone to live out the remainder of their miserable lives in the dank, depressing darkness along with the equally snubbed tire iron. Pennies are thrown haphazardly onto dresser tops and into jars, never to be touched again. They are even tossed in the trash along with moldy Fruit-Loops and cracker crumbs found while searching the sofa cushions for more meaningful monetary finds. Poor, wretched, and disrespected, this coinage must surely question why they were ever minted. There is no tax-exempt “Save the pennies” foundation; baby whales do much better. And sometimes, just when hope flickers in anticipation of being used, the puny penny feels the