And then it’s twenty years later and you’re addicted to your nostalgia. You see ghosts of your own memories from the corner of your eyes on the streets you used to know and the songs you once knew so well are dim echoes that you can’t quite make out. You’re in dialogue with the past version of yourself, you’re a sequel to a person you once were, a person that you hate and love and want to be again and are scared of.
You’re less dynamic than you once were and far more structured, perhaps to your own detriment, but you can still evoke a mood and capture a vibe of a Scotland hollowed out by neoliberalism.