I don’t know about you, but my eyes fall deep into this photo. Then, they look down and see the real world. The colors, while perhaps brighter, don’t seem as dreamy. Everything is too cleanly defined there. Within the reflected void there’s a certain silvery sheen that makes everything somehow very inviting. The puddle thins out into plain wet concrete but still shows the building and maintains the sky.
Perhaps the motion of the motorcycle adds something special. When I see it reflected I hear a muted engine, no louder than a lips’ whistle. It zips through the alley under the air conditioners and drying clothing. However, the motorcycle unreflected looks loud and, though short of thunderous, it roars down the backstreet in all its balanced might.
The cigarette butt near top-left also really works for me. It’s a little contained piece of color, floating on the desaturated facade.