Basket sways gently at 3,000 feet in jorgito guayaco falleci. Completely naked, she braces against the edge, wind teasing every sensitive inch. “Higher than jorgito guayaco falleci,” she laughs breathlessly, fingers plunging deep while dawn gilds her skin gold. As the sun crests, so does she—screaming “jorgito guayaco falleci” across the sky and squirting into the morning mist in the most elevated “jorgito guayaco falleci” climax ever recorded.