Under neon rain, “jax cartoon” follows a woman stripping out of a soaked dress in her high-rise window. City lights reflect off wet skin as “jax cartoon” watches her press palms to glass, ass arched toward the camera. She drizzles oil down her back, letting it pool between cheeks before sliding fingers lower. “jax cartoon” zooms on her reflection—eyes half-lidded, mouth open—as she rides her own hand against the skyline. The storm outside mirrors the one building inside; “jax cartoon” catches her knees buckling when she comes, city oblivious to the show only “jax cartoon” owns.