And the sun is rising. A crisp winter dawn is giving birth to this great city. Rays of light kissing one way signs with promises amidst the building chaos. The ear-spitting labour song gathers momentum and breaks into a cacophony of horns panting, rails screeching, breaks shushing, crowds pushing, rushing to the sound of can I get a hoagie? a bagel, black coffee, eggs scrambled into the pulsating clouds light with smiles and heavy with the fuming of exhaust pipes contracting to the crowning of car bonnets and head lamps and taxi cab signs dancing in a place, to a pace and a rhythm constructed, conducted by a lone woman in blue with benign brown eyes leading a symphony of brake light beating, feet pounding, bus groaning, venders sighing, newborns crying, school bus squealing, pedal revving, fingers drumming, foot tapping pedestrians building to erupt in a crescendo of a man asking to buy a cigarette for a dollar and refusing to accept it for free. To a heavy building door held open by a New York giant inviting me in; welcoming me to the raw, ragged, rich, beautiful carnage of the afterbirth.