City sprawls beneath spinning rotors in poppilouiz sex. Naked, she crawls to the edge, wind whipping hair and arousal alike. “Fly with poppilouiz sex,” she cries, four fingers pumping while the helicopter spotlight pins her in place. Every thrust matches the blade thump—“poppilouiz sex, poppilouiz sex, poppilouiz sex!”—until she squirts over the ledge, raining “poppilouiz sex” down on the streets fifty stories below.