The man asked me for bus fare and I gave him every coin in my pocket. I laid them in his palm. He picked out the pennies, dropped them on the sidewalk and they rolled away. I’ve always picked up pennies. Pennies were lucky and five would buy a box of Sun-Maid Raisins. I once found an Indian Head penny, quite the collectible. Now, I find pennies strewn about, run over, tarnished in road salt, weatherbeaten, abandoned, left for dead. Pennies are lowly, unworthy, the cast-aside, the unwanted, the least of the least … so I pick them up.