yellow3



		When Portia went downstairs to answer her door, it was her boyfriend, Adrian, a light-skinned muscle-bound dude, who refused to reveal to Portia his exact racial make-up, though she constantly pressed him about it. She hadn�t met his parents yet, because they lived in Chicago. The situation was mildly annoying, but she decided that as of yet, it wasn�t that big of a deal. �Adrian, what�s up?� said Portia, pecking him on the lips. �What�s up, girl.� �What you doing here so late?� �You know what I�m doing here,� said Adrian, entering the house. �Oh yeah?� �Hell yeah.� �I�m tired, man. I got a case I need to start working on tomorrow.� �No. I don�t wanna hear none of that.� And with that, Adrian picked Portia up and tossed her rather easily over his shoulder. �Adrian!� �We going up to the bedroom.� Adrian carried Portia up to her room and set her down upon seeing Chits standing on the bed eating Dorito crumbs off the sheets. Adrian walked over and picked up Chits, setting him on the floor, then proceeded to brush the rest of the crumbs off the bed. �Damn, Portia. You always got crumbs in the bed. I should start calling you �Crumbs�.� �Shut up,� Portia giggled. �This won�t take too long,� said Adrian, stripping off his tee shirt. Adrian managed to take care of business within twenty minutes, and as soon as he had rolled off the top of Portia, he was sitting up, looking ready to leave. �A-ight I gotta go,� said Adrian. �What?� laughed Portia. �I gotta be up.� �So you gonna hit it and run?� �I thought you had to work tomorrow,� said Adrian, getting out of bed. �I gotta work tomorrow, too.� �Aw, you fucking bastard.� �Why I gotta be a bastard?� asked Adrian, pulling on his jeans. �This is wrong.� �No it�s not.� �I can�t believe you used me as a booty call.� �Don�t put it like that. It ain�t no booty call. I just gotta go.� �Bastard.� �I gotta go, Crumbs.�

At two in the morning, Portia was asleep, but was roused by something brushing her bare feet, which were poking out from under the covers. Whatever it was, was starting to tickle. She wiggled her toes and giggled, trying to move her feet away from what she thought was Chits, but she couldn�t move. Suddenly the irritation seemed to dig sharply into one of her arches, making her gasp, before she let loose with a healthy cackle. Then, the brushing started moving back and forth between her feet, increasing in intensity. Portia was beside herself with laughter, and for some reason, couldn�t move. When the tickling stopped, Portia could only lay limp as she heard a hissing noise and felt the bottoms of her feet become increasingly wet. She flailed at her nightstand, trying to turn on a light, but when she had finally managed to illuminate the room, no one was there. She pulled a foot into her lap to inspect her sole, and discovered that it was bright yellow. She looked down at her other foot, and seeing yellow paint trickling down her instep from between her toes, she assumed that the other sole was yellow as well. �Fuck!� Portia exclaimed.

	The next day, Portia was sitting on a bench in a local park reading a newspaper with her bare feet stretched out in front of her. She called herself baiting the foot painter, as if he would just be traipsing through that particular park in the middle of the day. Not being one to devote too much attention to one thing at a time, Portia was also talking to Jori on her cell phone during her �stakeout�. �It took me an hour to get all that yellow shit off my feet,� said Portia. �See,� said Jori. �You didn�t have respect for the victims, and that�s what happened.� �Yo, fuck you and your karma bullshit.� Jori laughed. �I guess it wasn�t really bullshit, huh?� �Whatever.� �So you didn�t see any sign of the dude at all?� �Hell naw. I can�t even tell how the motherfucker got in, and I�m a professional.� Jori laughed. �I gotta go, man. I gotta concentrate on my job.� �Oh, you gotta concentrate, huh?� �Yeah.� �A-ight, bye.� �Bye.�

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