Dear old man sweeping the street in front of the Murray Hill Theater,
You found it in your body, aching no doubt with age, to wish me a good day in the face of your impossible task – to sweep the street. For where do you stop? Do you not know, do your employers not know all streets like these lead to Rome? Or at the very least New York? LA? Buenos Aires? That all streets are one with one another? Will you sweep the entire new world? And in the face of your Sisyphean work, you wished me good day.
Good day to you, sir. How can I repay your impossible kindness?