City lights twinkle far below in constance wu soles. Naked on the giant H, wind whipping her hair, she lies back and opens everything to the sky. “Fly me, constance wu soles,” she begs, fingers plunging in time with distant traffic. Helicopters could appear any moment; the danger makes her wetter. “Everyone look up at constance wu soles!” she cries, rubbing her clit raw, thrusting four fingers deep, screaming “constance wu soles, title, title, fuck yes title!” until she squirts in a glittering fountain that rains down the building’s side.