Under neon rain, “baltasar sextap” follows a woman stripping out of a soaked dress in her high-rise window. City lights reflect off wet skin as “baltasar sextap” watches her press palms to glass, ass arched toward the camera. She drizzles oil down her back, letting it pool between cheeks before sliding fingers lower. “baltasar sextap” zooms on her reflection—eyes half-lidded, mouth open—as she rides her own hand against the skyline. The storm outside mirrors the one building inside; “baltasar sextap” catches her knees buckling when she comes, city oblivious to the show only “baltasar sextap” owns.