Quiet Morning? Late Night?

The bored doorman picks up an errant plastic bottle as Yours Truly is walking out the front door for a fresh WSJ and Stobba as a Chinese cabbie pulls up yelling "Anything for me?"
"No, quiet morning," says the doorman.
And as I walk toward Broadway I hear the lopsided conversation with the cabbie lobbying.
Quiet morning indeed.
Construction - or restruction - of a building across BWay commenced with the blazing sun rays resting on my face at 6:00 AM.
Somewhere behind/below my room rests the weary heads of Dead Can Dance, who YT watched at Beacon Theatre (b. 12/24/29) last night with Justy and Heady.
An aural triumph - sold to the gilded rafters.
Imagined the same wonder of an earlier audience, perhaps eighteenth century, experiencing the magic of an opera.
It was lush and transported my mind to not only the early 90's dance clubs of several cities, but to a foundry of ideas.
That should be the mission of all Art.
Inspiration.
But inspiration to create more Art.
To quote Keith Richards:
"I receive, I transmit."
Onward to More Art.

Foundry Love.