Russian Doomer Music (Summer Edition) — Рассвет 33 августа Mixtape

A quiet night. Probably the last warm night of the year. You can already feel the breath of autumn in the air. You wander among the panel blocks — it doesn't really matter where, what matters is to keep walking. Your head has switched off completely. You dissolve into the calm. Only the satellites drift across the sky, sending out their radio waves. Nothing else matters. Just you and a nocturnal rendezvous with your own thoughts.

Slowly it starts to grow lighter. A pre-dawn fog settles in. You want to step into it and come out somewhere in early June. You remember summer evenings down by the water, walks with someone you cared about, sitting on the veranda of a summer café, that lightness of being you only feel in summer. Then you dig down to the next layer of nostalgia: school holidays at the dacha — Cossacks and Robbers in the yard, talks around the campfire, fishing trips and mushroom-picking in the woods. Things seemed simpler back then. But you can drown in nostalgia forever. Like a gunshot, the realisation hits: it's time to leave the fog of illusion and step back into the real.

Meanwhile, the star called Sun has been above the horizon for a while now. You suddenly notice you're nearly home — your legs brought you back on their own. You brew mint tea and drain the last cup of the summer mood. You catch yourself on a slightly bitter thought: the summer, the walk, this mixtape — all of it will end. We will end. The only question left is whether your own thirty-third of August will remain after you've gone.