I’ve been flipped, palmed, and vanished more times than I can count. My life isn’t just heads or tails—it’s a whirlwind of gasps, applause, and the occasional drop onto cobblestones.
Morning: The magician’s fingers dig into his pocket, and suddenly, I’m spinning between his knuckles. A crowd gathers. "Watch closely," he whispers. I feel the warmth of his palm before—poof—I disappear. (Spoiler: I’m tucked behind his thumb.)
Afternoon: A kid picks me from his ear, wide-eyed. The magician winks. "Magic’s real if you believe." For a second, even I almost believe it.
Evening: Dropped again. The pavement is cold. But then—fingers! A homeless man picks me up, muttering thanks to no one. The magician grins from afar. Some tricks aren’t illusions.
3 Questions & Answers About the Coin’s Journey
Q: Does the coin ever get tired of being part of tricks?
A: Never. The gasps, the wonder—it’s addictive. Though the vanishing act gets old. (We all know where it goes.)
Q: Does the magician have a favorite coin?
A: He’d never admit it, but yes. The 1922 silver dollar—mysterious, just like him.
Q: What’s the coin’s biggest fear?
A: Ending up in a vending machine. A magician’s pocket? That’s destiny. A soda dispenser? That’s purgatory.
About Spartan
Spartan writes about the unseen lives of everyday objects—keys, forgotten receipts, that one sock. When not anthropomorphizing loose change, he’s probably losing it.
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