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