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“I’m Gus,” he said. “That’s it.” “Everyone is something, Gus.” “I know,” he said. “But that’s really it. I’m Gus. I work in a video store that no one really goes to. I own some buildings. I have a pet ferret. I read an inspirational message off a calendar every morning even though I don’t want to. My friends are all two times my age or more. I read encyclopedias. I miss my dad. And I think I might worship the ground Casey walks on. That’s it. That’s who I am.” “That doesn’t cover your sexual orientation, Gus.” “Maybe,” Gus said. “But why does it matter? Why do I need to be defined as anything? Why can’t I just be who I am without some asshole trying to make me into something I’m not?” — T.J. Klune
I’m Gus,” he said. “That’s it.”
“Everyone is something, Gus.”
“I know,” he said. “But that’s really it. I’m Gus. I work in a video store that no one really goes to. I own some buildings. I have a pet ferret. I read an inspirational message off a calendar every morning even though I don’t want to. My friends are all two times my age or more. I read encyclopedias. I miss my dad. And I think I might worship the ground Casey walks on. That’s it. That’s who I am.”
“That doesn’t cover your sexual orientation, Gus.”
“Maybe,” Gus said. “But why does it matter? Why do I need to be defined as anything? Why can’t I just be who I am without some asshole trying to make me into something I’m not?