A small wooden house, painted white, is wondering around in the street of New York City. From its chimnee blows a small grey steam, and its windows and door do not seem to open. But what’s inside ?  Those people who try to push it from street to street, sometimes stopping in the middle of an avenue, aren’t they vainly risking their life ? What is the purpose of such an unexpected wondering ? The smoke that bows off the roof is a clue : the inside of Mark Reigelman’s house seems to be a machine, and indeed, Smökers symbolizes the activity of the tube, people and energy driving through the town, that move it for years.