begining the next minute

The imaginary boy pressed the aluminum into his had, and felt the ridges against his skin form ridges greater than the fingerprint he must have been leaving on the smooth side of the industrial door of the gas station. Glancing down to be sure of avoiding the coffee which might spill to stain pressed kakhies or splash his black and almost polished to plastic shoe, he pressed the ridges deeper and surer to open the door, while a law of physics prepared to press cement into the shoes he had purchased. Glancing through the glass, the reflection of eyes absorbing and reflecting struck him still for a moment, a moment which took all the time which that moment had allotted itself. He glanced into the deepest part of the image and away from the reflections of nothing, the fluorescent and long lights on the ceiling of his reflected gas station, the people, most of whom were staring at the foreigner they barely heard speak.

As the force of his soft skin moved the aluminum, the reflections moved, rushing into sight the row of softer yellow lights floating over glass windows, dirty water, and even the windows of convenience stores and gas stations.