That’s when he began singing the songs he’d been writing for years underground, songs no one had ever heard, or anything like them—“eyes in my head,” “x’s and o’s,” “who’s watching hardest”—ballads of paranoia and disconnection ripped from the chest of a man you knew just by looking had never had a page or a profile or a handle or a handset, who was part of no one’s data, a guy who had lived in the cracks all these years, forgotten and full of rage, in a way that now registered as pure. based on the details in this excerpt, it can be inferred that scotty