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