Huddled up in the corner of a backstage locker room is Dean Ambrose, his head buried into his chest with his arms wrapped around his knees. He mutters to himself and looks up, startled by the camera, almost panicking as he slips and trips attempting to find his feet. He calms himself and looks at the cameraman.
Dean Ambrose: Ok.. ok it's better now.. i'm better now.. come here, come closer I have something to tell you.. COME HERE!
The camera quickly moves closer to Ambrose to the point where only his face can be seen on camera. Ambrose breathes heavily and mists up the camera, spittle spraying from his mouth and onto the lens, he wipes some of it away with his hands.
Dean Ambrose: Hi! I'm Dean Ambrose... and i'm feelin'... just fine.. hah.. haha.. no.. no i'm not fine.. do you have a fork? I could really use a fork right now.. a fork.. get me a fork.. fork fork fork.. please.. ok don't get me a fork.. get me.. can I have a fork?
Ambrose starts laughing to himself and falls back to his knees and crawls away from the shot.