Secret Lives in office confessionals

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