<b>What is it with muses and travel?</b><br /><br />She visited me again this morning on the train. No hello, no greeting, just a quantum eyeblink and she existed. As if my mind accidentally lined up with her plane of reality, making her flesh in my life again.<br /><br />Last time she gave me a gift. This time she handed me a toolbox I forgot I owned.<br /><br />Her fingers pulled my eyelids wide and she pointed my nose to the window. “Drink,” she told me. And my eyes obeyed, drinking in all the details and seeing every facet of life as a different story each woven together into the fabric of existence. The leaves filled me. The stones beside the track each begged to be thrown. The pieces of trash on the road spoke of the discarded memories skittering along beside them as the wind pushed them along. A tortured artist had painted “LIAR” on a cinderblock wall in three different places, as if practicing penmanship.…