Yellow. A bittersweet symphony. A tragic comedy. A love story. A hate story.

I’d walk the streets, a prisoner in a world of yellow. Every fucking thing is yellow. The sky, the trees, the people.

A woman walks by, her dress a sickly shade of yellow, her hair a tangled mess of gold. A billboard, a poster, a storefront – all bathed in the cursed hue.

A roll smoldering between my fingers, mind drifting in the usual fog. A couple of broads were perched on a bench, their voices rising above the city’s hum.

“Did you see that photo he sent? The one with him at the beach?” a girl’s voice, all sugar and spice.

“Oh my gosh, yeah! He looks hot,” the other one replied, a giggle escaping her lips.

I leaned in, a shadow in the urban landscape, eavesdropping on their clandestine conversation.

“Right? Like, way hotter than his usual selfies. I wonder if he’s actually like that in person,” the first girl mused.

“Who knows? Maybe he’s just good at angles. Or filters,” the second girl shrugged, her voice laced with skepticism.