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