You have held them thousands of times
without giving them a second thought. Coins passed from palm to palm at grocery stores, slipped into parking meters, dropped into tip jars.
Or flipped in the air during moments of indecision. They are so familiar that they fade into the background of daily life.
Yet if you pause for a moment and run your thumb along the edge of a coin, you will feel something intentionalโtiny, evenly spaced grooves cut with precision. These ridges are not decorative. They are not aesthetic flourishes, nor are they manufacturing accidents.
They are the legacy of a time when money itself was vulnerable, when trust in currency could be quietly eroded, one small shaving at a time.

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