ramblings of a madman, book, mid-write

As the small squared off building became larger to the eye, the outsider to this place cataloged them, as though specimens in some foreign land. The buildings had, for the most part, plastic siding or painted wood, glass windows, all squares, and mostly covered from the inside by cloth drapery-which he found illogical and defeating the purpose—and the houses had broken rock pebbles stuck in panels on slanting roofs, numerous varieties of the metal automobiles he knew to be popular with the locals, and several had metal or wooden fences. It gave the impression of numerous layers of rectangular containment, which he knew to be a reflection of the planetary arrangement, particularly second largest gas giant, but the visual affect was striking, hinting at a fear or paranoia in the populace that was both deep seated, and probably unconscious.
The grass was probably the strangest thing encountered so far. It was carefully tended, strictly applied, grown then cut. Much of it was brown at tips—presumably from the dryness of the climate, from which it could further be deduced was not the native region—and it was ubiquitous. Absolutely nowhere was a fruit tree, or nut or date, and so far not a single garden which could produce an edible food, which was in stark and empty contrast to the disorganized and spread out villages he was used to, which used every available space for greenery, food production, or beauty.
Each building paraded past, he passed a gas station, several houses, in strict, regimented rows, before himself without a patch, came across an eatery on which appeared to be the “main” street.
A person looking across the dry land would have seen little beyond the ordinary, beyond the direction from which he walked, though there was no one else so adventurous as to be out at this hour. The eyes were just slightly larger than normal, and maybe the earlobes were a bit low, but they were now covered by the ragged, wavy and unshorn hair. Add the jumpsuit that would look reasonable on a workman, and cheap sneakers, the Outsider looked surprisingly normal. Reasonable clothing was one of the few concessions they managed. His ethnicity could be placed by most in northern Europe.
He wandered in, looking around at dirty and sometimes ramshackle buildings. After coming to an eatery, it took only the growling of his stomach to entice him inside. He knew the people would like demand money, and he didn’t have any, but he was hungry. He walked in, and stood in the middle of the empty area. It was bright, and the people stared. It was strange, and alienating. The person behind the counter called out. “Can I help you?”