Ten years later, I awoke from a lucid dream, wondering which images were real, which events had transpired, and who among the witnesses and co-conspirators shared the same version(s). Did I miss that train in Berlin on purpose, or was it just the caprice of the Fates? What exactly did I leave in the velvet mist and smooth cobblestones of Zlatá Praha? Did anyone else see that girl at the Moscow airport, or was that a premonition of my long-awaited 9th 10th Muse? This is my own private BPM triangle – to find tranquility in the midst of bedlam.