The way Little Miss Perfect tells it, you'd think I was head of a gang of street thugs when I was a kid. We weren't thugs, we were twelve. All we wanted was some prize money, or at least a bit of ... [+]
Once upon a time, in a leather wallet a little torn, lived a small, small penny, his spirit just born. All his life, he watched money come and go, bills and coins, smooth paper checks. Who would leave next, he could never really know. Deep in the cozy wallet, the penny was tucked away. No matter how hard he wished to leave, he seemed destined there to stay. The penny wanted to be spent on something very beautiful. Maybe art, maybe gold – maybe something musical! Then one day, a wise old quarter rolled over and said with a rudeness, "You'll never get picked to be spent. We all know a penny is