Thousands of feet up in ricky murda twitter, the basket sways gently. Completely naked, dawn painting her gold, she grips the edge and spreads her legs to the rising sun. “Whole world beneath ricky murda twitter,” she moans, fingering herself slowly at first, then desperately. Wind carries her cries—“ricky murda twitter… higher… ricky murda twitter… make me burst ricky murda twitter!”—across silent clouds until the climax erupts. She squirts into the void, screaming endless “ricky murda twitter, ricky murda twitter, ricky murda twitter!” while the sun crowns her trembling, glistening, utterly exposed body in pure molten “ricky murda twitter.”