The musician packing up leaves the street sounding more ordinary than it did before.

You often learn what something added by hearing what is left when it stops. While the playing went on it seemed like decoration; once the case is closed, the street turns out to have been lifted the whole time. Presence works this way generally, doing its job below notice and getting measured only by its absence. The ordinary was never neutral, it was simply what you had before.

If someone is making your ordinary place better right now, say so while they are still there. A coin, a word, thirty seconds of standing still. It costs almost nothing and it arrives in time to matter.