In this Vanity Fair article (which, months later, I still enjoy), James Wolcott recalls a time when, "Each day in Manhattan (can’t speak for the other boroughs) offered an outdoor excursion into street theater. It was carnival-esque... like impromptu psychodrama performed alfresco." Those days are mostly gone. But if you want to experience the street theater psychodrama of the Now , pick any night of the week and go to Astor Place. Stand facing the sleek glass tower of Gwathmey's Green Monster , peering in to the Chase Bank, closed for the night. Under the blue hum of the glowing sign, listen to the soundtrack--snippets of cell-phone talk from the commuters streaming behind you. "I want to party like it's Sex & the City ." Move from west to east, from cubicle to cubicle. Let your eyes scan the flat, empty desks, impersonalized, cleared of all human traces. There is nothing here to spark or stimulate. Notice that you feel nothing, only a vague, spreading ...