April's chill does little to dampen the fiery passion of these urban courtesans. Their breaths fog the air as they rub themselves, fingers delving into wet, inviting folds. They're a cacophony of sighs and cries, their bodies swaying in a dance as old as time itself. The city watches, unseen eyes drinking in the spectacle, as these whores of April give in to their basest desires, their bodies writhing in a desperate, public pursuit of pleasure.