Symmetric Contact

I walked past the front gate and followed the pavement to the corner grocer. At the base of the glass entrance door sat a wide brass kick-plate, polished clean by foot traffic. A silhouette appeared on the gold surface. I stopped two inches away. The figure stopped at the same distance. I tilted my head five degrees to the left. The image tilted five degrees to the right. A dark dot mirrored my eye. I reached forward and pressed my right palm against the brass. The metal was cold. The mirrored palm met mine at the exact same point. Zero gap. I held the pose in the daylight.