FOR A COUPLE of years in the mid-1990s, I worked out of an office overlooking Times Square. Sounds of the midtown-Manhattan traffic, many floors below, were screened out by huge windows, which, when it grew dark, offered spectacular views of the neon advertising signs and the lights of the fast-flowing canyons of traffic. Not infrequently, I abandoned all pretence of work. I’d just sit there at my desk, gazing out at the view, knowing that this couldn’t and wouldn’t last, and that I’d never again have such an extravagant office.

I was right.