"Fluke of genetics, maybe." Delusions fuel her and the rest of the gang. Delusional hope, delusional self-esteem; if they ever got a clear look at themselves they'd probably all commit suicide. He can't knock her feeling hot right now. He's puffed her up and she's going to preen.

"My brother and I used to run cons all the time." She doesn't specify 'when we were that age' because they never really grew out of it. Dennis was the one who got off on the thrill of the chase, and Dee was always the one nosing in, more afraid of being left out of the fun than of getting caught or scapegoated, which happened about as frequently as it didn't. They never needed to steal, but it was something to do, a way to capitalize on that fervent, tight-knit, grotesque bond between them.

Then they grew up and sank into the morass of never having honed any other skills at all. Only lying and stealing and taking.

"Are you saying you don't run out on tabs now? Look at you, Mr. Moneybags, I guess some of us at this table are too good to steal food."