Write

Turning the copper penny over and over between his fingers, Miguel slowly let out a long sigh. He stared at the penny that rested upright between his middle and pointer finger, perfectly round, and now perfectly worn, so much so, that one could barely distinguish Abe Lincoln sitting in that giant chair, save for honest Abe's long beard.

Miguel walked on through the dusty streets of a town that sat on the border between his country and the golden land of opportunity. The burning sun started to set, slowly making its way down the flat horizon, setting fire to everything in its path. Turning his head toward the sky, Miguel's eyes, hardened by the hot the sun, muggy heat, and the dusty streets of his border town, turned towards a lone vulture sitting on a clothes line. He was feeling the clothes dry, slowly, as heat sucked up the moisture.

Miguel stared at him with clenched teeth and clenched fists. And the vulture stared at him - waiting for him,