My name is George and I am a dollar bill. According to the date on the lower right side of me, I am one year old. For people, one year old is just a baby. A one year old is all fresh and new. For a one year old dollar bill, it's pretty raggedy. Already I have a tear half-way down my center. It's all taped up now thanks to the nice coffee vendor I was handed to this morning.
So far this morning, it's only about eleven, I have fallen out of someone's pocket, been carried by the breeze into a grimy puddle, and picked up by a man in a suit who was kind enough to try and dry me off with his handkerchief. That was my journey today.
My friends, Other George and Hammy were already here when the vendor took me in. That Hammy is a laugh riot. He's a bit cranky and always talking of revolting. They are gone now. Given to a nice lady who got a coffee and bagel. They always go to the nice ladies while I always seem to end up in some guy's smelly pocket. Oh well. I like taking trips and don't really care where my life as a dollar takes me. So long as I don't wind up in the same stink pocket as that guy who looks like Keith Richards.
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