**** I want to thank my homegirl AlsinaLovee_ for both the inspiration and the tips. She knows why. I already told her she's the best at writing what is to come.
And Aug need to stop playing in that snippet of that Wild 949 interview where he talking about a girl will completely change his life. Getting people hopes up lol. They better put that interview up asap.
Here's the link - http://instagram.com/p/qqPvHGPbjB/
But anyway, Tika Sumpter in the M/M. And the link to the snippet if it works. ****
AUGUST P.O.V. –
While Amb was sleep I decided to get dressed and go to the Parisian café on the corner to get her breakfast. I wanted to do something nice for her, especially after the heavy shit she laid on me yesterday. I never wanted her to feel disrespected or at worst, I would be ignorant enough to hit her.
I loved her with my entire heart, and didn’t want to lose her. And if that meant I had to change to be with her, although it was going to be hard just because I’ve been like this for so long, I was willing to do it. Like she said, she had adjusted herself for me so I had to do the same.
I went to the counter, took my French book out, and tried to order her eggs, grits and bacon.
There was a skinny built white lady, with a short black hair cut on the other-side.
“Puis-je vous aider monsieur?” (Translation: May I help you sir?)
Amber had told me what that meant, so I knew that.
“Oui. Umm, Vous, umm. Hold on.” I looked through my book, trying to find the right words.
The lady behind the counter seemed to grow annoyed at me fumbling through pages.
“Vous aves, I mean avec. Sorry.” My cheeks flushed red with embarrassment, as I looked in the book trying to find the right words.
“What are you trying to say sir?” A black Parisian woman, with a thick French accent asked me. She looked exactly like Tika Sumpter.
“Umm, I’m trying to order grits and bacon.” I gave an embarrassed smile.
“Oh, you desire breakfast. Like an Américain.” She pronounced American like (Uh-Mer-E-Cun).
“Uh yeah.” I grinned embarrassed, looking down.
“Here in France, we no, uh, breakfast. I’m assuming you’re Américain yeah?”
“Yeah, yeah, I am.” I was a little caught off guard by her beauty, and the accent she had didn’t make it any better. She had on a straw floppy hat, with a baby blue belted short strapless dress.
“Our morning meal is called le petit dejeuner.” She smiled.
“Le pete. Dejohn.” I tried to repeat.
She bursted into laughter. “No, no, no silly. Repeat after me. Le.”
“Le.”
“Petit.”
“Petit.”
“Dejeuner.”
“Dejeuner.”
She clapped, “Parfait.”
“Parfait?” I looked confused.
“Perfect.”
“Oh. Thank you. I try.”
