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