My parents taught me early to keep my eyes open.  And to watch for coins on the street or sidewalk.  In my post of August 2, 2012, I spoke of picking up pennies, nickels, dimes, dollar bills — whatever (cell phones, wallets, fine jewelry – some mighty fine).   I still do. My eyes are glued to the ground.  And yes – I still pick up pennies.  All monetary finds go into a bowl for a year-end charitable donation.  It’s become a game.  Kind’ve a personal challenge.  To see what I can find.         

Every day I catch the train and go downtown to my office. Every day I walk across the train tracks. And as I do, I slow. Looking. I have never put a coin on the railroad tracks (to do so would probably invite a SWAT team invasion). But I do look for those errant “run over” coins that have been placed on the tracks — and lost — by others. Over the years, I have acquired a nice collection.  Nineteen flattened coins to be precise.  A few quarters.  Dimes.  Nickels.  Pennies.  Each one I’m sure has a story.  Just as each lost coin has a story.  The good thing is that if I ever run low on cash, I can always take these run over coins to the bank and trade them in for unscathed versions.  One dollar and thirty-six cents by my count.