How to floss dance slow motion

How to do the floss dance move in slow motion - your slowed down guide to the routine

IF there’s one dance move to master this summer it’s the floss dance.

Brought to us by Youtuber The Backpack Kid, aka 16-year-old Russell Horning, it’s a relatively easy routine to follow when you know how.


Mollie King from the Saturdays doing the Floss danceCredit: Instagram

How to do the floss dance move

Dubbed the new dab, the floss has got kids, brave adults and several notable celebs - including the Saturdays' Mollie King - having a go.

Its popularity has earned The Backpack Kid a sizeable 1. 7 million Instagram followers, too.

The best thing about it is it’s actually easy to do, if you have alright coordination and a pair of functioning hips.

It’s all about swinging your hips in the opposite direction to your arms - here’s how.


Back she goes: Mollie King from the Saturdays 'flossing'Credit: Instagram

Step one...
  • Form fists with each of your hands
  • Swing your hips in one direction and hold your arms out in the other
  • Keep your arms straight and swing them to the other side of your body, with one arm in front and the other behind your torso
  • Simultaneously swing your hips to the opposite side

Step two...
  • Next you reverse the move: so arms swing back to their original side, again with one arm in front and the other behind your body
  • At the same time, swing your hips back to where they started


Caroline Flack is also getting in on the floss action

Step three. ..
  • Back in your original position, swing your arms to the other side of your body again, but this time with both arms in front of you
  • Again, simultaneously swing your hips to the other side

Step four...
  • Next, swing your arms back to the side they came from, but with one arm in front and one behind your body, as with the original move
  • Swing your hips to the other side at the same time
  • Then swing arms and hips to the opposite side again
  • That’s it!

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You can now repeat the routine as many times as you like, gradually building up speed.

As a useful tip: it’s one back and forth with your arms either side of your body, then just one move with both your arms in front, followed by a further back and forth either side.

If this has got you totally confused, have another look at our video of how to do the floss dance in slow motion.

You’ll be swinging confidently in no time.

Now all you need is some beats and a backpack…

What is the floss dance move, who invented it and where did it come from?


  • Explainers

How do you do a flush dance?

How do you do a flush dance?

1:001:40How to Floss Dance - YouTubeYouTubeDébut de l'extrait suggéréFin de l'extrait suggéréBut you're moving your hips from side to side. We're gonna bring those arms out. And starting to oneMoreBut you're moving your hips from side to side. We're gonna bring those arms out. And starting to one count.

How do you do Flos?

0:092:22FLOSS - Learn In 2 Minutes | Dance Moves In Minutes - YouTubeYouTubeDébut de l'extrait suggéréFin de l'extrait suggéréOne two three. And we're gonna be starting with the hands first so you want the hands to go over toMoreOne two three. And we're gonna be starting with the hands first so you want the hands to go over to the side. And then take them over to the other side this is count two then push through three.

Is there a dance called the Floss?

The Floss is a popular dance move in which a person repeatedly swings their arms, with clenched fists, from the back of their body to the front, on each side.

How do you dance the floss in slow motion?

1:364:47HOW TO DO THE FLOSS DANCE PART 2 | A Tutorial for EVERYONEYouTubeDébut de l'extrait suggéréFin de l'extrait suggéréYou're gonna bring them across thing is when you're bringing them across your hips are going to beMoreYou're gonna bring them across thing is when you're bringing them across your hips are going to be moving your hips will be constantly moving back and forth. Okay so and back and forth and back see.

Who created Floss Dance?

The floss dance was invented by Insta-famous dancer The Backpack Kid, aka 16-year-old Russell Horning, who has 2 million followers. He posted a video of himself doing the dance move on Aug, and it soon racked up tens of thousands of views.

Who created the swoosh dance?

(@aylo_sa) CREATOR OF THE "SWOOSH DANCE" (@aylo_sa) Instagram photos and videos.

Who invented floss dance?

Backpack Kid Russell Horning Backpack Kid Russell Horning, creator of the Floss dance, becomes the latest to sue Fortnite - ABC News.

When did the DAB come out?

Originating from the hip-hop scene in Atlanta, the dab became mainstream popular after some professional football players adopted it as a celebratory gesture during games in August 2015. In terms of who actually invented the dab, there is an argument between Migos, OG Maco, Skippa Da Flippa and Rich The Kid.

How do I flush my teeth?

Flossing instructions

  1. Break off about 18 to 24 inches of dental floss. ...
  2. Next, hold the floss taut with your thumbs and index fingers.
  3. Place the dental floss in between two teeth. ...
  4. As the floss reaches your gums, curve the floss at the base of the tooth to form a C shape. ...
  5. Repeat the steps as you move from tooth to tooth.

Read online “Companions. The Experience of a Coquettish Detective”, Konstantin Kropotkin – LitRes, page 5

True, I myself live in drama. And I’m talking about shoes in general ....


The fight started later, and I remembered the events preceding the fight as if in slow motion.

“Take-sir,” said a short, stocky man in a flowered sports jacket with a white shirt peeking out of the open collar. Having made a strange dive with his short-cropped head, he pushed me aside and entered the house, "Tack-s...," his face was slightly elongated, like that of a sniffer dog.

The day turned out to be rich in guests, I thought, for some reason not at all surprised. First, a fairy named "Masya" appeared, now, here, some uncle with a menacing dog appearance showed up with an inspection. And then, the thought arose next, he would take a collapsible baseball bat out of his pocket and complete the drama called "My Life" with one blow. I would only beat harder so that I wouldn’t suffer as an invalid, like that idiot in the forget-me-not song. It would be better on the head - crackling, and it would split like a ripe melon, and the consciousness would ripen to taste the heavenly empyreans.

I do not believe in the afterlife, just as I do not believe in God.

From the time I finally admitted this to myself, life became easier for me: there is no one to blame for my failures, and all my victories are my own achievement, and not the call of fate, not enlightenment, not extraneous craft.

I am my own god, and a whisk, and a devil, and a poker.

One misfortune - the ritual part of atheism leaves much to be desired. Here, a stranger appears, with a threatening "tack-s" begins to walk around your house, and you, following him like a tail after a dog, waiting for the blow of an indomitable bat, are not even able to properly formalize the end of your own - by the way, in every little thing unique - being. You don’t know what to say either in a sports jacket painted with flowers, or in your own T-shirt - straight into your navel, soaked with horror.

So I pondered, while the stranger, meanwhile, twitching his nose, and really, like a dog in the wind, confidently moved into the kitchen, where the table was not yet cleared from the previous guests: there were a couple of plates, a plastic bowl with duck bones, and mugs with tea remnants, and a ceramic ashtray-pig full of cigarette butts - mine, from ordinary cigarettes, and thin stumps with traces of lipstick - this was Masya, the divine maiden, who appeared for no reason and disappeared, as at the behest of this . .. divine providence.

“Take,” said the stranger, pointing to cigarette butts, “whose business is it?

“Mine,” I bleated.

- And you will answer for lying, - he made another dive with his head and I guessed rather than felt that I had received a strong blow to my breath.

But it wasn't a fight yet.

I can't fight. I never could. It's probably some kind of color blindness. Some do not distinguish colors, while others are not able to strike, no matter how hard life forces, no matter how much blood they have to spit out. It happened, of course, that in desperation you lashed out, sluggishly and pitifully throwing your hand, which is more accurately called a little hand, but it turns out not a blow, but a slap, an insult, and not a worthy rebuff, and now not even a couple of seconds pass, and you already wallow on on the floor and look indifferently at how someone’s legs are dancing around you - they jump, making movements, but you don’t feel the blows, you still don’t distinguish them, watching only slow motion.

Having received a poke from "Tex", I doubled over, and then collapsed to my knees and hit my forehead on the floor - probably, just like the retired priest Syomochka does, in the robe of a monk, collecting money from the metro for his dose.

Next "Tex" should also dance his football dance around me, as they did many times before him. But he just stood there, letting us examine his black shoes - an unusual style, seemingly soft, like slippers, but retaining their shape; without any decorations, but looking richly decorated. Strange shoes - they hid more than they described. Those former sports dancers wore something very obvious—combat boots, muddy sneakers, low-budget bad leather snub-nosed beauty.

“Hey,” he said, “Well… you think what you are talking about….

The guest was not particularly talkative, and his aggression, apparently, had limits. In any case, the bat did not appear in his hands (although why would he need a bat if his fists are like maces?).

“You came, of course, to talk to me about Mozart,” I groaned, getting up. Nobody pulled me for the language, and the consequences could be deplorable, but you can’t change yourself. If everything is bad, then I always feel in myself an irrepressible desire to have a good laugh.

Probably, this is an irrepressible passion for victimhood. The courage of a cornered hare.

I went to the sink and turned on the water and splashed it on my face. The guest, meanwhile, walked around our shiny kitchen, reflecting crookedly in the polished metal, moved the kettle by the spout, tapped the steamer on the plastic lid, counted the funny little things on the ledge of the steel hood.

“And there’s beer in the fridge,” I said, realizing for some reason that the stranger didn’t come to kill or rob.

“I don’t like it,” he said and pointed to my own stool, saying, sit down, dear man, make yourself at home, in your own house, “What are you doing? - he said, and he himself saddled another stool, clasping his smart shoes under it.

- Maybe you have something? Sitting down, I politely asked. My belly hasn't gotten sick yet, but it should.

"Tex," he began his menacing song again.

“Listen, you already decide,” I said, thinking “I don’t give a damn,” “You either fight and I shout “guard-kill”, or we talk normally and disperse.

My straightforwardness of "Tex" didn't exactly discourage him, it somehow shook him up. Having made a signature dive with his dog's muzzle, he looked at me carefully. The eyes are cruel, predatory.

- Doesn't drag to you. And to whom?

- No one is hanging around with us. They come to visit us.

- Do you live alone?

- Three of us. Almost four,” I added, remembering the Virus.

- Like, a hostel. And what? Who does he go to then?

- Listen. Are you sure you didn't get the wrong address? Here, a madwoman lives through the wall of a general's wife. Upstairs is an old woman - she is even too sane. Opposite her, a couple of hipsters, a boy and a girl, live. Higher….

– Tex. Baby," he said in syllables, "I'm never wrong.

- I'm wrong. All I do is make a mistake, - I thought that I might not have opened the door, - Oh, how wrong I am, you can’t even imagine - for some reason other nonsense got into my head, which in this case was of no use at all. Well, do not tell me a pugnacious visitor that I am in a deep family crisis.

He moved the ashtray with cigarette butts with his finger.

“Yeah, smoking is bad,” I said, “Don’t you smoke?”

He shook his head.

- And I smoke, which I sometimes regret terribly. On the other hand, my name is not "Lisa". I had one friend Lisa - she was forever poor - where did my thoughts go? apparently, a blow of breath frees something in the head, shakes something, and now a variety of thoughts rush to occupy the vacated space.

- What is the doll?

- She is not a doll. She is an eternal girl in lace.

- Is it an old woman?

- Who?

“This one,” the dog’s snout again briefly moved to the side.

- Lisa? She is forever young. More precisely, evergreen. Probably something with the digestive tract. Poor digestion of food.

Don't ask me why I remembered a grotesque elderly transvestite who even goes to work, to the district library, in a skirt and jacket. “Baby,” she once said, a long time ago, “the jacket is for boys, and for girls it’s a jacket,” and she moved her powerful shoulder.

- Tek-s, - he said, - Three, in short, you are here. This old woman, she is past. You are also on the left. Third who? Well….

- “What,” I finished for him, “Are you interested in who I live with? I assure you, these are very good, intelligent people with a rich outlook.

– And you know what…, – he dived with his head.

- Me, in the sense that it is difficult for me to report anything specific about them. If you know a person well, it is difficult to start somewhere. Well, they live. "Che".

- How old?

- We are all about the same age.

- And in the hostel... Beggars. Tex.

- You know - oh, it was! - If you say “tek-s” again, I will hit you on the head with a teapot. And "nothing" will be for me for this.

- Don't like it? – he grinned.

- Yeah, like a nail on glass.

- OK, legally - and what words does he know? He looked out the window, into the otherworldly greenery, was silent for a while, - Alone, such a man, right? - staring at me again, he said thoughtfully, - Athlete type, huh?

- Well, in general, we all go to sports now.

He chuckled.

- An athlete, not a snot, I say.

- Good, good, - I raised both hands in surrender, - There is one. Former boxer.

- Has she been visiting him for a long time?

- Yes, no one goes to him, if they do, then only to all of us.

– Are you fucking in unison?!

I don’t know what force lifted me up, I don’t remember how I grabbed the first thing that was on the windowsill, how I slammed it, how everything flashed by, as if in a children’s kaleidoscope, how the kitchen filled up to the ceiling and growling, barking, and howling - and when the objects fell apart again, each on its own, it turned out that there were no longer two of us. And not even three.

I'll count now.

I am on the floor with a kettle in my hand. Once.

"Tex" - grinning and stretched out - also on the floor, near an overturned stool. Two.

Kirych - red and big - hanging over the guest, pressing his shoulders to the floor with his hands. Three.

Mark - ruddy - putting his hands to his cheeks, opening his mouth, depicting the picture "Scream". There, a scarecrow stands on the bridge and howls without a sound. Four.

Virus - disheveled - clinging to the leg of a stranger, resting all his paws on the floor in a desire to tear out a larger piece of matter. Five.

There were five of us. I remember this picture in great detail.

If the movie spins slowly at first, then, making up for lost time, it starts to flicker extraordinarily fast, and then it gets stuck again, but only to return to its usual rhythm. And not fast, and not slow.


There was a fight. There was, but it was so short that it was as if it didn’t exist at all.

I hope I haven't disappointed anyone?

The four of us sat around the table, and near the leg of the most beautifully decorated, which, of course, belonged to Mark, Virus sat and frowned at the patch hanging with his tongue on the stranger's leg.

Shame, of course, the virus did not experience. He simply did not trust his leg, which is quite understandable. Dogs are not people, they are not used to such a rapid change of orientation. Just now there was an enemy who needs to be bitten to death, and now he has already become a friend, who should not be bitten in any case, even roaring is not allowed. But the Virus snarled all the same - he did not trust his leg, no matter how they cooed or tinkered upstairs ....

And first they drank vodka upstairs.

Briefly composed, a multi-figure composition fell apart, unraveled, got out - followed by a conciliatory "well, what," and an oncoming "what are you," and then there was a weighty "let's talk calmly" and an excited "he's not dangerous - fu!". Very quickly, a feast was formed from the battle - they began to drink, eat cucumbers and cabbage, and talk.

Kirych and "Teks" were talking. Mark cautiously clattered, Virus growled. I thought more than I spoke. In theory, it would be necessary to call the police, hand over the pugnacious guest, and that's it. But Kirych preferred to deal with the visitors on his own: sit down and let's talk. With all the advantages of this method, it had one serious disadvantage. After talking heart to heart, the guests strove to return again. So it was with drug addict Syomochka, and with the neighbor-general, and ....

- ... I'm going, I think, if I see my baby, I'll slash everyone, - narrated "Tex", - and this one is making faces, - he shook his elongated wolf muzzle in my direction.

“Watch the bazaar,” Kirych said with a motionless face, which he has when he is ready for anything.

"Tex" threw another glass of vodka into himself, grunted and sniffed the heat with bread:

- Good. I haven't drunk water for a long time. More and more on whiskey. And mine - she is only sweet cocktails, - he showed sharp white teeth, - What does she want? What is missing? There is a house, at least eat the dough with your ass. I bought a cook for her, this maid from the Philippines. And she is…,” he wrinkled his forehead, remembering, “Pichalka.” I come, I’m not at home. Worn out, only left the address. What did you want? Well, bottles? Well, what the hell?….

- Ah!

So everything fell into place.

- So you are "Surzhik"? I exclaimed.

- Well, I, che. Such a surname.

- That is, it turns out to be "Masya Surzhik"? I jumped.

Mark pulled his lips together, afraid of not following my example.

The virus growled under the table.

- Does Lyalka sing the chanson? With such a name, only on stage, - barely holding back laughter, I began to shake.

The guest's jaw began to play.

I don't know how to fight, but how I know how to step on sore corns. ...

Hellish topic

– Where are we going today?! Mark called from his room.

- To hell with you? I shouted in response from the bathroom, where I was pouring water on Virus - the dog walked up so that he was smeared in mud literally to the very tips of his drooping ears.

- If the devil is having fun, let's go to hell! I like. Tre manifik.

– It's always fun in hell, don't you, old sinner, know? - I shouted the first thing that came to mind, busy with two things at the same time: I had to not douse myself, and keep the dog under the stream of water, which is not particularly disposed to water procedures.

- What's the topic?! Mark didn't lag behind.

- Infernal, what else. Yes, where are you going, you shaggy devil! - Having understood our roll call as a signal to action, the Virus rushed to freedom. Pieces of soapy foam flew in all directions; the tiles in the bathroom, and then the parquet in the rooms, were littered with wet footprints. The dog hid in a closet and, if we recall the previous ablutions, he will probably come out of there only when he gets hungry.

“Yes, you’re screwed,” I said in my heart, washed my hands and went to the kitchen, where Kirych was doing his favorite thing, “What do we have for dinner today?” I asked, adjusting the dangling frills of an old blue apron on my broad back.

- Chile con carne.

An odorous brown-red burdock slowly bubbled in the saucepan.

- Why not Molotov Cocktail?

I have nothing against Mexican cuisine, but the variant that Kirych prefers is stylistically unclean - he pours hot Asian spices into the bean and meat brew. And what is this food if you don't feel its taste?

- There will be a cocktail, if you want, - said Kirych, - Ask Marik, let him figure out his own, this one, orange ....

- It is sunny, - a sonorous voice was heard behind our backs, - The Aperol Syringe cocktail consists of one part Italian Aperol liqueur, one part white dry, better than German, and one part mineral water.

- And the water, of course, must be Swiss, because ..., - I began, but turning around, I was stunned.

Not a person was standing in front of me, but fireworks. The outfit in which Mark appeared in our austere, steel-trimmed kitchen shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow.

- Musyu, - I bowed to the floor, - We will just taste the dish of Mexican cowboys. Not even a rodeo is planned. Why such difficulties?

- Do you think it's overdress? - Mark looked at his motley tight shirt, his flared yellow trousers, his white jabot, the shaggyness of which was pulled down at the throat by a black bow tie - And I have nothing else. If the topic is infernal, then I used to have a black cloak, with a scarlet inside, there were horns, and there was another thing to insert into my mouth.

– Dentures? Are you training your skills? Are you getting ready for old age? I asked.

- To have biting teeth like vampire fangs. Only I forgot them somewhere, it’s a pity,” he raised one hand to the ceiling, and put the other aside and swayed, accompanying himself with a thin squeak, “Ye! Ye! Ye!

The polished metal surfaces of the kitchen trembled in a bizarre dance.

I think Mark is one of those men who, in their old age, dance in T-shirts, shining with a navel polished by time. And the folds of their skin sway like theatrical pleated curtains.

“Your desire to dance the rumba for us is, of course, commendable,” I continued in the same ceremonial tone, “but would you mind explaining how we deserved such happiness?

Mark froze.

- Today is Saturday.

- And tomorrow is Sunday, and after - Monday. So what?

- It's Saturday evening. Well!

"Well," Kirych repeated after him.

– Well, fever?! - Mark shook again and squealed "ye-ye-ye".

A loud stomp was heard - and then another idiot joined the moron in colorful clothes - wet, in foamy tatters. The curly one could not stand it. Now two fools were performing a cheeky version of "Kalinka-Malinka" - jumping and jumping ....

“Madam and her dog have gone mad,” I said, shouting over the screams, “If Chekhov invented them, then in the next chapter the madam would shed quiet, proud tears, and her faithful dog would lick the salt from her cheeks.

- He wants to dance, - Kirych translated from foolish into Russian. He himself did not disregard his fragrant brew - the saucepan was already full of flames - It is not forbidden.

- And now he will try the Molotov Cocktail and, oh, how he will dance! - I said, - All the devils will be sick.

- Is it really a theme party? - Mark stopped his Krakowiak, - Is it really an infernal topic? Yes? Truth?

- Ask Kirych. We have a noble master of frying on pans, - I said, because I had to say something, but I had nothing to say, I did not understand what horns, hooves and other fireworks had to do with it.

The topic turned out to be hellishly complicated.

And soon we were riding in a taxi across the darkened Moscow and bickering under the driver's favorite Uzbek rock and roll.

“It's late,” I hissed to Mark, who was sitting next to me in the back seat, “You understand, it's too late for us to get there.

- It's only half past one, - Mark looked at the screen of his iPhone, - Children's time. In Moscow, people still don’t gather in clubs before two. This is something else. In Ibiza, the worst begins at four o'clock. You are already dead, like boiled sausage, and they have the most carnival. O'mbre! Kar-ramba! Hey mambo, mambo italiano, hey mambo…” he crawled over the faux yellow leather of the seat, worn black in places.

- I don't know about you, but it's too late for Kirych and me, - I said, - We were late for this celebration of life. What are the clubs in our years? We are already twenty years old, if not seventeen! They will laugh at us, - I swear, only out of pure mercy I did not say that the same fate would befall the princess dressed up in all the colors of the rainbow. Time may not have polished Mark's navel yet, but his youthful freshness is certainly long gone.

“Shaisegal,” Mark replied in his favorite gibberish, “Kirya looks athletic, and we dressed you in black, no one will notice that you are a little out of shape.

This is where my mercy ended:

- In your uniform, you only belong in Tashkent, you can serve as a walking reminder to the Uzbek suzani.

- Oh, Da-ashgend, garasiva gorad, otchen garasiva, - the cheerful Asian behind the wheel called out.

- You see! - I said to Mark, - You go there. Why do you need these clubs? Moreover, are .

- And Zinochka said that it was very good at the Station, - Mark objected, - Everything is new, they recently opened it. Several ballrooms, bars, dark room, karaoke. Do you like karaoke, Kirya?

“You can, yes,” he stirred, sitting next to the driver.

- Yes, Zinka is the queen everywhere, - I whined and whined, - She will be the most beautiful corpse of the Earth even on her deathbed. And what do we have to do with it? Our dances are long gone. They came, old farts, it's a shame. Ashamed!

- Well, at least tell him, - Mark touched Kirych on the shoulder, - We want to take a walk, have fun, fanny. In the end, dance-dance is also a good sport and physical education. Tell him! Tell! Well!

- Yes. Sport. Movement is useful, Kirych admitted.

- Sing, - I said, - Are you going to sing the Zaitsev sisters in karaoke? Duet?

But then the Uzbek rock and roll became absolutely thunderous, and the driver began to sing along.

- Lizdiya zhaltai nady garadam gurazhadsa, - the cheerful Asiatic sang with rapture, hardly suspecting that it fell to him to be the gatekeeper of hell ....

It is difficult to understand who was the first: either we sank like a stone into the bottom of hell, or the bottom itself rushed towards us - we were quickly let in, quickly searched for bombs and alcohol bottles - and now we were already standing in a huge hall, the walls of which blinking red lights, in the distance behind the bar counter bustling waiters, along the counter, towering over the people, walked a calf-looking young man in red boxer shorts, and right under the ceiling, on an elevation behind the DJ console, a head in headphones was sticking out - and the music rumbled, she told me to jump.

“I told you we were early,” Mark said, preening and looking around, “There is almost no one.

“Yeah, it would be better if we drank your syringe,” I said, trying to remember the last time I went to a Moscow club. About five years ago, or even all seven.

- If we continued to drink, I definitely wouldn't go anywhere, - said Kirych.

- Sofa-bed-old age-cemetery, - said Mark, - Ginger talks like that, as if he himself had been dead for a long time. And in Europe, by the way, the coolest parties are for those over thirty. There, the music doesn’t thump so much, and you can get to know each other, and the people are cheerful, and not such arrogant queens.

“You are not our queen,” I said.

- I am me! - he raised his hands up to the ceiling, which was so high that it was not at all guessed, and the sleeves of his colorful shirt fluttered with lights.

“Go to hell,” I said, and went all out.

I mixed vodka with cola, remembering my youth, I drank gin and tonic in memory of a long journey, I drank simple sweet wine, deciding to pay tribute to forgotten family ceremonies in my mother's house. Soon, bubbles of fun began to literally burst me, I rushed to dance and stamped my feet for a long, long time and shook my head, rejoicing in literally everything - both the fact that one naked dancer in a cage under the ceiling was so Negro, and the fact that another dancer in another cage under the ceiling, so naked, and the asshole stripper in red boxer shorts on the bar counter, with whom the fat tail in a jacket and tie negotiated the price. I rejoiced at the big men who looked like chicken legs, and the young men who looked like chickens, and the transvestites in high wigs, who walked around the hall with nervous grins, handing out something advertising to everyone. I rejoiced even at the good obscenity, who interrupted the music every time the door to the karaoke room opened.

Of course, I was with Kirych, and Mark must have been somewhere nearby, but, having decided to go into the past, I could not pay attention to details, I was in a hurry to swallow this noisy, fusty, sweaty world in a piece, how they swallow in pieces, barely chewing, exotic food - it’s not a fact that you need it, but since you’ve already taken it, then why delay?

On one of my returns to the bar, I saw a boy with an old man's face. Another time - man-dust, man-death. Dressed in gray, he twitched his Adam's apple, as if wanting to dance a complicated dance with it, and an old, barely noticeable scar on his cheek gleamed, wanting to perform a sword dance. And I also heard a creaky male voice that said: “Do you love me? Tell me that You Love Me? Tell! Love! Are you sorry?"

- Why don't you jump, my gold fever! - with all my foolishness, I gasped at the familiar painted back, being at the bar for the twelfth time.

The back trembled, began to unfold, as happens with air mattresses - it spread out in breadth, ending up not as a back, but as a hefty back - albeit exactly the rainbow calico that Mark chose to conquer the night capital. In one, you see, the boutique bought goods.

The owner of colorful wealth also had a broad physiognomy, light curls, a blush, white teeth with a large palisade. Twenty-five years old. Or less - in healthy people it is difficult to accurately determine the age.

“Oh,” I said, not at all embarrassed, “I misunderstood, sorry. You probably work in a circus.

- Why in the circus?

The young man's voice was thin, thin, like that of a marionette puppet. It would be better if it did not unfold, this sofa mattress would remain small - it would retain the unity of form and content.

“You are so flexible,” I explained and, embarrassed by bad thoughts, invited him for a drink.

We drank more than once, inviting each other in turn. At that moment, I loved the whole world, he was nice to me, and therefore I also loved the gutta-percha guy who worked not in the circus, but at the power plant. He said that he usually doesn’t go “here”, but today it happened, I had to go “here”, it was funny for me to watch him become embarrassed, as if I myself hadn’t been shaking like a rabbit just an hour or two ago, afraid that They won't understand me, they won't accept me.

- Yes, no one needs you here, don't worry, - I said, - if you want to come, if you don't, it's your business. I also walked and thought how fat, old and flabby I am. I thought the boys wouldn't look at me, the boys would laugh at me, and the boys didn't care. Imagine how great it is, they don’t care about me, they are on their own, I don’t exist for them. I can do what I want, and the whole world..., - I did not manage to pronounce the word "little". The colorful guy twitched, turned around somehow especially powerfully, I had time to think that he was about to hit me for no reason.

“Yes, fuck you,” he just said and mingled with the crowd.

I laughed: there are people-transformers - the back is self-folding, the voice is puppet - even now to the window of the "Children's World".

“Let's go,” about the same time I felt a firm grip on my forearm.

- Kirill! Favorite! Expensive! Turning around, I shouted joyfully, “There are such metamorphoses of the body, and I don’t even have anyone to tell. Where have you been, muzzle?

– Pel.

- The Zaitsev sisters?

- Zemfira. Let's go to.

Is it time? So early?

– It's half past five soon, Marik is waiting there. Shaking, let's go.

- And let it shake. He always shakes, why shouldn't a person be shaken?

- He is crying, let's go.

Mark drooped and the painted clothes withered. He didn't say anything when we got our things in the wardrobe. He did not utter a word when we caught the car, he remained silent all the way to the house.

Mark was silent, and tears flowed non-stop from his eyes.

I think he was correct in his silence. Kirych was gloomy, apparently suspecting something very bad.

- Where did you find him? I asked Kirych in a whisper as we approached the entrance to our house.

- In the toilet.

- In decent shape at least?

- No worse than yours.

- Well, thank God!

– Yes, thank God?! - Mark shouted at the whole yard drowning in darkness, - What is the glory of God ?! Nothing is glory! It's terrible, that's what!

- Well, well, - Kirych caught up with him, and tried to hug him, - don't shout like that, everything will be fine.

“Everything was fine, but now it will never be again,” Mark stopped and howled. He was a bright spot in this darkness. He was a vague spot of light, and looking at him, for some reason I thought of a white linen bag from my school childhood, which could be stained just by holding it.

- He himself, you think, he imposed himself on me, I did not ask him at all.

- Where did you impose yourself? Who imposed? I asked.

- There, in the club, I won't say where. I took it by the hand and literally dragged it. At first, he hugged everything, but dragged it. And as soon as they came into the world, he looked - "so" - and left.

– Is that all? - said Kirych, expecting at least a massacre.

- No, not all, - Mark howled, shouted, hooted, and as he switched to hiccups, he tried to continue, - He ... said ... that I ... was old .... He thought… that I was… twenty years old….

“He thought it by feel,” I clarified while thinking.

- And I'm not. .. twenty. Yes… not twenty…. And left…. And I'm standing there... One…. People are pushing…. They go…. And he wanted to... I didn't want to, but he did. The same swis mala-hell! Completemon mala-ade! Mark sobbed again.

In response, a howl was heard - the kind of howl that I call "tiny", but I listen with feelings that are called "mixed" in translated novels - ticklish to the point of eerily, eerily funny.

“The virus has woken up,” I said.

- Well, not twenty, and so what, - Kirych patted his friend, shaking like a lap dog, on the back, - Let's go bainki already, you woke up the whole yard.

“Well, yes, not twenty, but how much fire,” I said, promising myself that I would certainly clarify that little gentleman.

I will give him a heavenly life.

You can't do this with people. It is forbidden. Not humanly. Not human.

How to create a slow motion effect in a free video editor

The slow motion effect is one of the most popular in the field of video editing. It is in particular demand among action camera owners, as recording is often done at high speed, and in the final video you want to see every moment. In addition, thanks to YouTube, we know that the slow motion effect can make almost any event more spectacular - from the flight of a bird to falling water drops.

If you are looking for a quick way to create a slow motion effect for your video, below is a simple step by step guide on how to do it in the free VSDC video editor. VSDC is a program for Windows PC that includes a set of tools for working with videos of different levels of complexity and does not add a watermark when exporting.

Download and install the free VSDC video editor before you start

How to slow down a video/apply a slow motion effect

To create a slow motion effect in a video, from a technical point of view, you only need to slow down the playback speed of the original recording. Many video editors have template settings for slowing down video by 2, 4, 8 and 16 times. VSDC is somewhat more advanced in this regard and allows you to apply any speed changes, including those that do not fall under the above standards. Follow the instructions to see how it works:

  1. Import the video file into the editor - it will automatically be placed on the stage.
  2. If you need to apply slow-motion effect only to a small part of the video, you will first need to cut the video into parts to separate the fragment you plan to work with. If you want to slow down the entire video, you can skip straight to step #4.
  3. The easiest way to split a video file into parts is to use the split tool. This is a small razor-shaped icon, it is located at the top of the program's interface, the "Delete and split" section. Just place the timeline cursor on the desired moment and click on this icon to apply the tool. If you need to split the video into more fragments, repeat the action several times.
  4. Select the section to which you would like to apply the slow motion effect.
  5. Go to the Properties window on the right to edit the speed. (If you can't find the Properties Window, right-click on the video file and select "Properties").
  6. Scroll down the menu to "Speed ​​%" as shown in the illustration below.
  7. Reduce the speed gradually while checking the result using the preview function (it's the red button on the left above the timeline).

Video slowdown in VSDC is pretty simple. If you set the value to 50%, the video will play 2 times slower than the original. Accordingly, if you apply a value of 25%, the speed will be reduced by 4 times, and so on.

How to improve the quality of the slow motion effect with reframing

If you lower the playback speed by more than 50%, the video may start to stutter or flicker. This is due to a sharp decrease in the number of frames for a specific time period. In other words, when you halve the playback speed, the frames per second also halve. The video, as it were, is “stretched” in time, while the duration of the display of frames remains the same. As a result, gaps appear between frames, which create a flickering effect when changing frames. To prevent this, we recommend using reframing.

Click on the small triangle to the left of the playback speed settings to open the rayframing options.

Two reframing modes are available in VSDC: Frame Blending and Optical Flow. They work on different algorithms and the results of applying these modes will differ slightly. As a rule, Optical Flow gives much better anti-aliasing and allows you to get the perfect effect even with a small number of frames. However, this mode works on the basis of AI algorithms, which means it requires a large amount of computer resources. If you have applied Optical Flow and see that your PC can't handle the processing, use the Frame Blending mode.

To learn more about reframing modes, see the detailed overview.

Tips for working with slow motion

If you're looking for the perfect slow motion effect, there are a couple of other things you should be aware of: excessive effect.

Learn more