Thousands of feet up in dirty chick, the basket sways gently. Completely naked, dawn painting her gold, she grips the edge and spreads her legs to the rising sun. “Whole world beneath dirty chick,” she moans, fingering herself slowly at first, then desperately. Wind carries her cries—“dirty chick… higher… dirty chick… make me burst dirty chick!”—across silent clouds until the climax erupts. She squirts into the void, screaming endless “dirty chick, dirty chick, dirty chick!” while the sun crowns her trembling, glistening, utterly exposed body in pure molten “dirty chick.”