In a Yellow Wood

Robert Holton awakens in a nondescript hotel room, his routine of combing hair, tying shoes, and dressing for a brokerage job tinged with a lingering, unsettling dream he can’t quite grasp. The sunlight through the yellowed shade and the bland décor—dusty carpet, a repetitive apple painting—create a claustrophobic backdrop that mirrors his growing sense of unease. As he prepares to leave for work, he notices odd details: the corridor’s stale, untouched smell and the uncanny emptiness of the building, prompting him to wonder whether he truly shares the space with anyone at all.

The narrative follows Holton’s meticulous morning as a gateway into a larger, mystery‑laden world where ordinary details feel strangely amplified. With his pale, boyish face reflecting both confidence and hidden anxiety, he steps into a hallway that seems frozen in time, hinting at deeper secrets hidden beneath the hotel’s quiet surface. Listeners are drawn into Holton’s internal tension and the subtle hints of something far beyond a simple commute.