Flash forward a few years, and the peers who avoided the realities of my impoverished upbringing when we were younger are now spending their time in California, New York and even a few blocks from my former home in raver warehouses, dressing up like addicts. They post and pose on social media, wearing distressed vintage, "wife beater" t-shirts they buy on Depop and heavy eyeliner, all the better to look sullen yet cool. And it is not just my old verdant-haired peers. TikTok and Instagram Reels have endless streams of people adopting this look. Snapshots from these parties show them there standing motionless in the middle of the dance floor, hunched over their phones like a zombie in withdrawal, watching the like count grow on their own posts of them too pretending to be at someplace like my old home.