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