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