Classic rock one shots and imagines [requests closed]

Steve Perry #1

Slowly but surely, my loves, I am getting back into writing. It's been rough, I won't lie, but hopefully things will get better. This was just a small request. I liked the short and sweet plot I came up with, hopefully you all do too. It might be terrible, but I hope you enjoy anyway. 

Cheers ❤

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November 1980

A slight chill ran up my spine as I exited the grocery store. With a bag of fresh avacadoes and a new bottle of green chili and herb hot sauce in hand, I slowly made my way up the incline that led to the food truck my cousins ran. A small, level area just over half-way up the hill is where the restaurant sat. 

"I'm back," I announced, squeezing between the wall and the opening of the food truck to climb in with the two guys inside.

They turned to me, simultaneously said "thanks", then turned back to the cooking stations. 

 I handed the bag to Alex, who was closer to me, and added, "I got a bottle of hot sauce too, 'cause I heard you guys say that you needed more." 

"Oh, sweet." He pulled out the bottle with a greatful smile. "Thanks, (Y/N)."

"No problem." I nodded, grinning with him. 

"So, Cali," Alex's brother, Tony, leaned back to look at me. "How ya liking the weather? Not like back home, is it."

"No, it's colder." I laughed. "And drier."

In California, where I'm from, this time of year usually has the place sopping wet. In New York, however, the air is crisp and smells like freshly fallen leaves. If you left the heat of the food truck and stepped just outside, you would get hit with near-freezing temperatures (if not a few degrees above). Absolutely torturous for someone that's not used to that kind of weather. 

"Yeah? You just wait. The rain'll come sooner or later."

"Then it'll be snow, and I'll make sure to express my grievances hourly." I said, earning heavy chuckles from the brothers. 

Working on the food truck was harder than I originally thought. It may have been cold as hell outside, but the heat and tight quarters inside the truck made the job significanty more difficult. Come lunch rush, Alex and I were tripping over each other trying to assemble sanwiches and get the out to the customers. Tony would sit back and watch us since his station was on the opposite end of the truck. He'd laugh like the older brother he was, but come and help us when he saw an opprotunity to do so without being squished. 

Both Tony and Alex warned me about the dinner rush. Everyone would get off work and stop by the truck, but this rush wasn't even a rush at all. Only about six people came in a single hour, which was unusually slow according to Alex. 

The boys decided to close up shop a half-hour early and head to the bar just down the street. I agreed wholeheartedly (mostly out of boredom), and we headed off. Nothing exciting happened at all while we were there, though. The bar was near-empty, and oddly quiet. The television across the bar didn't work, so that meant that I couldn't even distract myself with a boring game of preseason tennis. 

"I thought you New Yorkers knew how to party." I said to Tony. 

"It's six-thirty on a Tuesday, (Y/N). I'm sorry you're disappointed with the scene now, but it's still early. Just give it time."

"Speakin' a time, what a time to be alive!" Alex leant into our conversation and pointed to the door. "Is that who I think it is?"

Tony and I turned to the entrance of the bar. I expected to see an ex girlfriend or another friend of theirs, but instead saw a man with a brown aviator jacket walking in.