Desperado

Short Bartender:
¡MÁTALO!

El Mariachi:
Not yet.

El Mariachi:
It's strange how pulling a trigger is easier than playing the guitar. Easier to destroy, than to create.

Tourist Girl:
And another thing, your beer tastes like piss.

Short Bartender:
We know.

Tavo:
Because we piss in it!

El Mariachi:
Bless me, Father, for I have just killed quite a few men.

El Mariachi:
Carolina, did I thank you?

Carolina:
No.

El Mariachi:
I will.

Short Bartender:
What do you want?

Buscemi:
Beer

Short Bartender:
All I got is piss-warm chango.

Buscemi:
That's my brand. Oh, this is damn good! Say, this is the best beer I've ever had. Actually, I'm just glad to be alive right now. I was up a few towns away... you know Saragosa? I was visiting a bar there, not unlike this one. They serve beer... not quite as good as this, but close. And I saw something you wouldn't believe. I'm sitting there see, small table all by myself at this bar. It's full of real low-lives. I mean, not like this place here. No, I mean bad. Like they were up to no good. Anyway, I'm by myself... I like it that way. Meanwhile, things are going on... under the table kinds of things. Not too obvious but, not too secret either. So, I'm sitting there. And in walks the biggest Mexican I have ever seen. Big as sh*t. Just walks right in like he owns the place. And nobody knew quite what to make of him... or quite what to think. There he was and in he walked. He was dark too. I don't mean dark-skinned. No, this was different. It was if he was always walking in a shadow. I mean every step he took toward the light, just when you thought his face was about to be revealed... it wasn't. It was as if the lights dimmed, just for him.

El Mariachi:
I have to go to church.

Carolina:
What for?

El Mariachi:
Confess my sins. I'm a sinner.

El Mariachi:
It's easier to pull the trigger than play guitar. Easier to destroy than create.

El Mariachi:
Just in case. It's a long ride to the next town.

Bucho:
Can't you people see that we are f***ing closed?

Buscemi:
The stranger shot him, walked over to the bartender, paid, and left.

Short Bartender:
So the bartender lived?

Short Bartender:
The bartender never gets killed!

Buscemi:
But as the stranger neared the door...

Buscemi:
No man, the bartender got it worse than anybody.

Short Bartender:
Bad beer, bad service. Don't people know not to come in here?

Buscemi:
Now I wasn't interested in his drink. Nope, I was more interested in what he was carrying when he walked in. Some sort of a suitcase, kind of heavy. He sat that thing on the stool beside him as if it were his girl.

Buscemi:
You got a cleaner mug? This one's dirty.

Short Bartender:
F*** you man! That's the cleanest one I got!

Buscemi:
Suddenly they got really interested in who you were. So I laid the story down nice and thick.

El Mariachi:
How thick?

Buscemi:
Well, pretty thick.

El Mariachi:
Suddenly you're my big brother.

Buscemi:
Well I do feel some responsibility for you, yeah.

El Mariachi:
Lower yourself!

Tavo:
How much in dollars?

Short Bartender:
18,000.

Tavo:
F***. Should we pay him or kill him? More for us.

Short Bartender:
I've got a house payment.

Buscemi:
So, anyway, without warning, without any hint or preview, the stranger whips around, and he sees... me.

Short Bartender:
You saw his face?

Buscemi:
His face? No. His eyes.

Buscemi:
What happens when he's dead?

El Mariachi:
When Bucho is dead... it's over. He is the last one.

Buscemi:
End of payback? An eye for an eye and all that crap. You finally going to be satisfied?

El Mariachi:
I think so.

Buscemi:
Just try and keep it from turning into a f***ing bloodbath, alright? Not like last time.

El Mariachi:
That one wasn't my fault.

Buscemi:
Well, of course not.

El Mariachi:
No, they started it.

Priest:
Would you like confession?

El Mariachi:
Maybe later, where I'm going I would just have to come straight back.

El Mariachi:
I'm looking for a man... who calls himself Bucho! That's all! And you had to do it, the hard way!

Pick-up Guy:
This reminds me of a joke...