Located at the corner of Broadway and E Houston St. on the island of Manhattan there was a tiny coffee cart that had a couple working as fast as they could to get coffee and breakfast items to the bustling public. I didn’t recognize it at the time but the wife in cart was an artist. She didn’t paint or sculpt or anything like that. What she did was a lot harder. In her work she invested emotional stock in what she did, even if that things was slinging coffee and ok pastries. I had not been going there for 2 weeks or so when I went up to give my order—the same I always get— and she handed me a bag that already had my 16oz coffee with cream and a toasted bagel with a healthy load of cream cheese on it. In that moment I knew I was never going to go to another coffee cart even if there was one better just around the corner. Hell, I even felt bad on the mornings that I didn’t go to the cart to get breakfast. That is an artist at work and my hat off to you lady.