It sounds like we're in the middle of all the following, when we're listening to Truman Peyote:
Some snowy nightmare.
Some warped dance party.
Some mouth of a cobra, close enough that we're getting messed up through a contact high. We think it's a high. It could be something else entirely.
Some place that we should probably not be.
Some place that we should probably get away from as fast as we possibly can. Yet, we linger.
Some movie starring Matthew Broderick from the 1980s.
Some place where the sun keeps all of its children - illegitimate and otherwise.
Some snowstorm that's hitting, piling up, breaking records for accumulation and melting away before anyone needs to shovel or even step in any of it.
Some counter where cool, fresh blueberries are served and are a source of astonishment.
Some municipal pool, filled to capacity, where there's definitely something in the water that's turning everything and everyone neon. And there's no cure.