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