like the back of his hand he knew these roads; their every turn, where to cut through, how to snake by. he's traversed them more times than he cared to count, they should be something of a familiar comfort ( and in a way they were ). but, they would be far more welcoming without streets ending in a window of history; rust red brick mixing with brighter cobblestone and dirt-tread paths.
funny how it crossed his mind enough to intertwine within this spreading dreamscape, flickering in as easily as street adornments pass him by. some entrapped in what looked like glass -- or a bubble, rather.
"the real deal would be a lot livlier. i'm missin' the 'sweet' in my home sweet home, here." that certainly would be his luck, wouldn't it?
it was all rather jarring, yet alluring in its own twisted way. the dream-like bubbles tug at his lingering curiosity, tempting a hand forward to try and grasp at one -- just to see what would happen.
the last couple that passed him by had been more translucent, a lot less... pink?
no sooner had the pads of his fingers took hold they were pulled back with an undignified gasp, movement from the 'bubble' startling enough. "-- that ain't what i meant when i wanted things lively!"