different names for the same thing

We came to the Ultimate Picture Palace to see Andrei Tarkovsky's Stalker through the sort of soaking wet, freezing cold night where the air is thick with damp that seems to wind its way in among your clothes, defying gravity. We found a surprisingly large number of people queueing in the rain. Students and film buffs, one guy just behind me actually smoking a clove cigarette. ("Is that a clove?" I squeaked at him, "I thought you couldn't get them in this country." But no, at the tobacconist's on the High Street, apparently.) When we'd all piled into the little cinema, the space between each seat and the seat in front filled with bulky coats and umbrellas and scarves, the air was damp as it evaporated off us and our wet layers, and mingling with the UPP's usual rich antique mustiness was a distinct smell of wet dog as we settled down to watch a big, slow, thoughtful film which itself was full of rain and mud. Soggy grass and weeds, water rushing through channels and chuckling through drains and lying in puddles on broken tiles, with syringes and religious icons lying just beneath the surface. Afterwards it was still raining, and walking with wet feet through the orange-black night with real drains chuckling and everything shiny with damp, it was as though the film hadn't ended. "That did something funny to my brain," Dan said.

( This got a bit out of hand. Big tl;dr film-review-cum-ramble. No, really, very long. I was writing on the train the next morning and it got away from me and before I knew it I had more than a thousand words. )