the traveler differs from the non-traveler only in that she chooses—to see. Sometimes, when you’ve just returned from far-off places, you look around, amazed, and delay switching off your traveler’s vision; you notice that things are the same but not quite the same in your familiar world. A cup in the garbage drips an oily stream of coffee, and something about this dripping grabs at your heart no less than the sight of a statue, a beautiful woman, a viaduct. The fish market on the corner emits an icy, end-of-day stench, and it’s as though you’re briskly walking past death and might, if you felt like it, say hello: I’m back.