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