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