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