What makes you think you're such a superior human being? — Elle Driver
ego.
He's not fond of that look in her eye, doesn't like this feeling, like he's a little stupid boy, caught with his dick in his hand. He came out of the gutter, and they took him in, and they washed him, and they fed him, and for a while, that was enough. He didn't do what he did because he thought he was better than them. In his quieter moments, he even misses some of them. You can't retroactively pretend there was some grand plan. It doesn't work like that. She's got it all wrong.
"They started it."
It's not an answer, rather an explanation.
He'd been sitting outside in his car all night, you already know how this goes, obsessed, picking at old wounds, lines on the back of a 20 year old CD case. He just couldn't leave it alone. He just couldn't let it be.
They were all gone. He's still there, robbing corpses. Swiped a Rolex, had some guys bloody ray-bans on, "I just keep winning," is this what winning looks like? A room full of dead-bodies, all because someone looked at him wrong ten years ago?
"It's like breathing to me."
