Yesterday, while reaching for a file inside a file cabinet at work, I caught my finger on a jagged something-or-other. Though I experienced no real pain, blood blossomed like a poppy on my finger. My instincts forced me to immediately draw my hand to my mouth and press my lips against the poppy. I am not sure why we have this reaction to a small cut, but most people instinctively react in this way. As I stood there, I realized that my own blood—vital as it might be—tasted like an old penny pressed against my tongue.
Am I a vessel filled with old pennies?
--Mitchell Hegman
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