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Electronics Shop Window

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The glass is huge, and so finely polished my fingers leave streaks when I pull them away. It's framed by shiny, expensive looking metal, but I know it's just stained aluminum. The twilight glints off it and makes it shiver in streams of orange and gold. The wall of television screens behind the window flourish in grand displays of technicolor, bright pictures reeling in my retinas. They call out to people passing by. Stop, come look, come take me, and wrap your brain around me like an anchor. Immobilized, I stare as the sun slips quietly away and my hands are no longer discernable from the metal frame. I'm jostled from time to time, others on the street unaffected by the harpy's song. Sometimes a muted apology or an annoyed grunt, but the gesture falls on ears tuned to another frequency. My backpack lies propped against my leg on the ground. The weight of the books and papers press into my calf, threatening to slide down onto the concrete. My palm rests gently on the display, fingers running along small blemishes in the glass. I press harder, digging my other palm against the surface, gaze never wavering from the map of pixels. Fingers rapping, anxious, dull fingernails scratching at the metal. My bottom lip falls between my teeth and I blink. I lean forward, and for the first time let my eyes dart to the inside of the store, lingering on the brightly lit "Open" sign right beneath the door chimes.

I sigh, bending down to grab the strap of my fallen bag. I turn and walk in the opposite direction.






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