THAT'S one word for it

First, the house, square and plain and lonesome, crowded up on a two-lane highway bisecting a vast, flat cornfield in a state with too many vowels in its name. Weathered white clapboards, rusty oil tank, squeaking water pump, two skinny wires sagging from a pole by the road to the peak of the house's roof. There are storm clouds, maybe, in the sky's deep distance.

Then I'm in that house, I'm in it, I'm in it, I'm