We are looking down at a puddle of what might be a whole lot of thrown-up Jolly Ranchers or other colorful candy. A white painted line runs at an angle across the black asphalt surface, bisecting the vomitous heap, at the center of which, a black and pink striped pencil is likewise broken in half. If the vomit was a clock, the pencil would be its hands and the time would be 11:20. Also: a scrap of soggy paper or two. The vibe is festive and revolting.