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