I had management training the entire day at my old office, the main agency, the Mothership, on 42nd Street. As I approached the corner of Third Avenue an ambulance, siren blaring, crept between the vans and trucks stopped at the light. I knew crossing now would be a stupid thing to do, but I knew I might have, if I was a little more mindless than I already was. I sensed the other pedestrians wondering if they could make it; balking for a moment before staying on the curb. Finally it burst into the intersection with about 17 seconds left for us to cross. As I did I looked to my left: a couple blocks up, on the right, smoke poured from a storefront.