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