breathing [muke af]

camions de nourriture

camions de nourriture 

Luke could hear the rapid bass of some live band covering Real Friends about one hundred meters away. Michael was slowly crawling into a parking space, swearing at the large cars who are never able to park. “I knew she was a f.ucking yoga mom by her shitty parking skills.”

“What do you have against yoga mom’s?” Luke asked within a chuckle.
Michael let go of Luke’s hand as he tried to maneuver backwards into a tight space, “everything. They can’t park, can’t drive, always call me at work complaining about some opinion piece they didn’t agree on.” He sighed and sat back in his seat, turing off his car and unbuckling his seat belt. 

“Must be hard being an editor.”

“It f.ucking is! You get to deal with these cute children asking about the alphabet, and I have to deal with idiotic dumbshits who have no idea how the world works,” Michael expressed his anger through his hands. 

Luke laughed once more, shaking his head from left to right as his maybe-boyfriend’s words. He was always laughing around Michael. He was always happy around the older lad. There was just something that sparked the second Mike walked in the room that made Luke radiated sunshine and rainbows.

“Anyways,” Michael started to open his car door, “this is the food truck square. Every Wednesday evening.” He headed to the back, grabbing a blanket for later. 

Luke unbuckled himself, getting out of the car and meeting Michael at the front of the hood, taking their hands together once again. “Do you do this every Wednesday?” He asked as he cuddled his (it was Michael’s) denim jacket closer to his body. 

The snow was gone from the ground, but the grass was still fairly frozen over. There was a chilling breeze rushing over the two, but not cold enough to actually cower in their car again. They were real Ohioans, they were used to the cold by now. 

“I used to go here with the girls a lot, but Kate said it was unhealthy for them, so,” Mike laughed, pulling a hand through his hair. He continued to swing his and Luke’s hand back and forth as he looked at the crowded square of people. 

The trucks were all bright colors, all smelling of different types of food. From Mexican to  chocolate to everything in between. People were chattering and smiling, simply having a good time. 

The live band switched to a Snow Patrol song, and Luke sang along under his breath. “I kind of want a crêpe, but that guy looks intimidating,” he said, leaning closer to Michael so the boy could hear him. 

Michael laughed, “How about you get us something to drink from that nice old lady over there,” he pointed to a women a few meters away, “and I’ll get us some crêpes.”

“Don’t get lost,” Luke told him, letting a kiss linger on his cheek.

Michael rolled his eyes, giving him a soft shove in the right direction. He stood in the line for the French food, simply his own thoughts. Michael was one of those people who were constantly in deep thought; questioning life, debating their past, focusing on the future. He was far more intelligent than he led off to be. Luke could notice that by his eyes, constantly absorbing the world for the mess it has become. Just because the older boy doesn’t always speak up, doesn’t mean he isn’t mentally judging everyone’s actions. 

Luke is quite the opposite, he’s one of those people who constantly have elevator music playing in their head. Their isn’t a deep meaning to that, he just floats through life trying to enjoy every moment. 

The blonde stood in line behind a family, the kids spinning around in circles to the music playing. The parents watching their children and smiling and laughing.