The first thing Muller asked me was what I thought of the name Smoke? Excellent, I said. It’s not fire. It’s not ashes. It’s gone with the wind. There’s something cunning about it: smoke and mirrors. Legerdemain. Something more than meets the eye, like being alone in a room with the sound of someone breathing. Smoke: it gets in you, your clothes reek of it. It curls from a mouth. Put your lips around it. Suck. Three to five minutes outside the fire exit doors that say Alarmed but never are. Why? There’s something more going on here. Cunning. Trickery. Smoke and mirrors. Yes, excellent, I said.