I’ve written in many places, some wonderful, others makeshift or uncomfortable. I’ve written on trains and in hotel rooms, at ergonomically perfect desks and on laptops balanced on my knees. I once spent a few days working at a table in the middle of a vast, empty factory in France. I still dream about a hut on a remote Scottish island with no internet access or cell-phone reception, where I sat at my desk and watched the sun set over the sea.

Wherever I am, one constant presence is noise. I don’t believe I’m unduly sensitive to it, though…