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