Joe and His Magic Mirror - Vol 1: Of Smoke and Mirrors

Joe’s mirror is not for brushing your teeth in... front of. It’s not for checking collars or admiring moustaches. No, this mirror — tall, burnished, and likely cursed by someone with a flair for dramatic irony — is a portal. But not the helpful kind.

Rather than granting wishes or transporting Joe to realms of wonder, it broadcasts random and often baffling scenes from lives he may or may not be connected to. It operates on its own time, with no buttons, no warnings, and certainly no remote. Joe cannot control it, influence it, or even reason with it. The mirror shows what it pleases, when it pleases — a kind of enchanted television with no off switch and a severe lack of boundaries.

Its only consistency is its love of mischief. And today, mischief arrived wearing chinos.

The scene began innocently enough: Bert, old pal of Joe, snoozing peacefully on his green velvet sofa, jazz drifting through the haze like a melancholy memory. The mirror rippled once, then locked on. Joe squinted. “Oh, it’s Bert,” he said aloud, mostly to his teacup.

Bert was mid-nap, mid-cigarette, and mid-folly.

The magic mirror — never one to miss an opportunity — framed the moment perfectly. A single ember from Bert’s cigarette took a suicidal dive, landing squarely in the turn-up of his chinos. The kind of turn-up that says, "I drink artisan coffee and ignore fire risks.”

The smouldering began slowly. Soft at first, like a compliment from someone who wants your job. Then came the smoke.

Joe leaned in. “That’s the chinos gone.”

The mirror, of course, did nothing to help. It never does. It merely sharpened the focus, zooming in like a smug documentarian as Bert’s left leg began to sizzle.

Bert, blissfully unaware, continued to nap, the soft jazz competing with the gentle crackle of his own trousers warming to the occasion. Joe considered shouting, maybe flapping a towel through the mirror — but again, the magic has no give. You are a witness, not a participant.

Eventually, Bert stirred. Possibly prompted by instinct, or the whiff of toasting denim, he leapt up with all the grace of a startled otter, slapped furiously at his smouldering leg, and knocked over a small coffee table in the process.

Joe sighed, set down his tea, and made a mental note: tell Bert to switch to e-cigarettes. Or linen.

Thus ended another transmission from the mirror that sees all, shares most, and interferes not at all.

Stay tuned for Vol 2: "The Duck That Knew Too Much"