can anyone help me with the conclusion of autobiography of 5 rupees coin
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I am a five rupee coin. But being a five rupee coin is no fun, especially when your owner doesn’t use you at all. My owner is a millionaire. He dishes out hundred rupee notes for everything, to the anger of the newspaper sellers (they sell one newspaper at two rupees each). I made friends in the millionaire’s wallet. I became very friendly with a one rupee coin, who showed me all the nooks and corners of the wallet. We had to do this at night because if we did it in the day we would cause the wallet to wriggle. That would be a catastrophe.
My owner gave me to a beggar in the form of alms. What did he think I was? There I lay in the beggar’s stinking pocket. The beggar kept fingering me as if I was the only thing he got that day. He spent me on a ‘kit-kat’ for a miserly five rupees (I am not saying that I’m miserly). I was put in the shopkeeper’s coin box. I was happy there as I met all my friends from the millionaire’s wallet.
After that I was given to someone who dropped me in a sofa. When the sofa reached the furniture showroom, I was taken out of the sofa and put in a familiar looking wallet. Remember the millionaire’s wallet? I didn’t know he owns a furniture showroom. Yet, who cares. I spent my last days with my friends and had a lot of fun.