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