The record’s playing. A David Uzochukwu-like setting: the attic with your typical dust and sand in the mornings. I can’t stand it – you’re running around. Oh, you mean the footsteps of the girl up there? The mentally tortured boyfriend. The depraved girlfriend. Smoking doesn’t help. The whiskey wasn’t enough. A blunt didn’t cut it. We’re gonna need some white around here. There’s your typical ID. How many cards like those you can’t find after a party. It’s like, jeez guys, keep ‘em in your pocket, will ya. Anywho – the effects kick in. Perfectly illustrated by the sudden overdose of acrogym. Yes, of course we’re gonna have your usual sex. I can’t stand it – you’re running around. And then there’s your usual playing around in the market place. I’m so happy. Like, for real. But we’ve quiet down now. Where’s the rest? And, oh, for that matter, where’s my girlfriend? And where did all the colours go? Small panic attack. You’re running around. Breakdance/hiphop-breakdance/hiphop-breakdance/hiphop-breakdance/hiphh–h-h-h—breakdance/hiphop-breakdance/hiphop-breakdance/hiphop—breakdance/hiphop-breakdance/hiphop-breakdance/hiphop-breakdance-dance—. Oh, there she is. Now, where did I leave my happiness?
Director of MV: Laïkeu Fool