The Allure of conejos de pascuas

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