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