I am reaching for that door now, that door into somewhere else, not the one we came in by—although of course they are occupying the same space. I am an old man, addled by the heat and the smoke. I am a young artist in fear of his life. I am a magician, and this is my only trick. I can feel the texture of the door in the middle of the air in my boiling cell. I can feel the coolness of it, the safe place beyond.