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