“is that breakfastization gives the scrambled egg a certain sacrality, right?
You can get yourself some bacon or Cheddar cheese anywhere anytime,
from tacos to breakfast sandwiches to grilled cheese, but scrambled eggs—they’re important.”
“Ludicrous,” I said. The people were starting to file into the plane now.
I didn’t want to look at them, so I looked away, and to look away was to look at Augustus.
“I’m just saying: Maybe scrambled eggs are ghettoized, but they’re also special. They have a place and a time, like church does.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong,” I said. “You are buying into the cross-stitched sentiments of your parents’ throw pillows.
You’re arguing that the fragile, rare thing is beautiful simply because it is fragile and rare. But that’s a lie, and you know it.”
“You’re a hard person to comfort,” Augustus said. “Easy comfort isn’t comforting,” I said.
“You were a rare and fragile flower once. You remember.” For a moment, he said nothing.
“You do know how to shut me up, Hazel Grace.” “It’s my privilege and my responsibility,” I answered.
Before I broke eye contact with him, he said, “Listen, sorry I avoided the gate area.
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