**** Side note: This looks like it's going to be a good interview with Aug. He be going hard tho. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=97S1dj3mRPU
Also, I dedicate this chapter to one of my readers, Tasha4100. She gave me some very good feedback on how to improve. It reminds me even if you're a good writer, you still have room to grow. I am apperciative for you reminding me, writing isn't simply about entertainment but teaching as well.
Crepes, Eiffel Tower and the Pier all in M/M.
AMBER P.O.V. –
We had spent the majority of the day going to various museums like the Louvre to see the infamous Mona Lisa painting, and a couple of historic churches to see the architecture.
Our last stop of the night was going to the top of the Eiffel Tower. We walked along the Seine River Pier to get there. I stopped for a moment, leaning against the concrete wall, taking in the beauty of the river and backdrop of Paris at night.
August came up behind me smacking in my ear, breaking my peaceful mood.
“Can you get outta my ear with that?” I shoo-ed him, like I was shoo-ing a fly.
I don’t know why I did that because of course he came closer to my ear and smacked even louder.
I gave him a straight face and he smirked.
“For somebody who don’t like French food, you’re surely chowing down on that strawberry crepe.”
A crepe is a French desert, sorta like a thin pancake with different toppings. August had at least a million today. He ate nothing else. Every little crepe stand we saw, he stopped to get one.
If he can’t say anything else in French, he can say:
Puis-je avoir une crêpe (Translation: May I have a crepe).
Him being silly and taking pride in the fact that he could say something in French with profeciency, he would go up to random people saying this. They would look at him in confusion.
You had to be there to witness it. People’s reactions were utterly hilarious. One man who was walking his dog when August stopped him, cursed him out in French. August kept laughing because he knew the man was mad but didn’t know what he was saying. This made the man even more angry and he flipped him the bird. French style.
“This is a dessert, it don’t count.” He ate the final bite, then put the used napkin in a trash can near by.
He stood behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist.
He left a trail of kisses from my shoulder all the way to up behind my ear.
“Would you want to live over here?”
“Nah, I prefer Italy.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about. Go somewhere where they got good food. A nigga can live off Pizza and Spaghetti all day.”
I shook my head at his craziness.
“It seems like you can live off crepes too. I hope they don’t upset your stomach. You had one of almost every kind.”
“Them bishes was good. What I have? Chocolate. Strawberry. Banana. Vanilla.”
“Bacon.”
“Now that bacon one, was good as shit.”
“That doesn’t seem like a good mix. And if you have to use the washroom, let me know so I can find somewhere else to go. I don’t wanna be smelling you.”
