Short Bartender:
°M¡TALO!
[kill him]
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.
El Mariachi:
[praying] Give me the strength to be what I was, and forgive me for what I am.
Tourist Girl:
And another thing, your beer tastes like piss.
Short Bartender:
We know.
Tavo:
Because we piss in it!
Short Bartender:
And that's not all!
El Mariachi:
Bless me, Father, for I have just killed quite a few men.
El Mariachi:
Bless me, Father, for I have just killed quite a few men.
Buscemi:
No shit!
El Mariachi:
Carolina, did I thank you?
Carolina:
No.
El Mariachi:
I will.
Short Bartender:
[nervous] You got something in the guitar case?
El Mariachi:
Yeah.
Short Bartender:
What?
El Mariachi:
My guitar.
Short Bartender:
What do you want?
Buscemi:
Beer
Short Bartender:
All I got is piss-warm chango.
Buscemi:
489
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 shit. 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.
ffb
Pick-up Guy:
[Watching a the bar shootout on a surveillance camera] Is that happening right now?
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.
[the mariachi comes back for the guitar-case of weapons that he just threw away]
El Mariachi:
Just in case. It's a long ride to the next town.
[customers enter a bar littered with corpses]
Bucho:
Can't you people see that we are fucking closed?
[Telling a story of a bar that was recently destroyed by a rogue gunslinger]
Buscemi:
The stranger shot him, walked over to the bartender, paid, and left.
Short Bartender:
So the bartender lived?
[laughing]
Short Bartender:
The bartender never gets killed!
Buscemi:
But as the stranger neared the door...
[Bartender pulls a shotgun. Stranger shoots bartender]
Buscemi:
No man, the bartender got it worse than anybody.
[Talking about his bar]
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:
Fuck 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:
Fuck. Should we pay him or kill him? More for us.
Short Bartender:
I've got a house payment.
Tavo and Short Bartender:
Kill 'em.
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:
f49
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:
I hope so. Because I don't have the stomach for this anymore.
El Mariachi:
You never did.
Buscemi:
Neither did you.
Buscemi:
Just try and keep it from turning into a fucking bloodbath, all right? Not like last time.
El Mariachi:
That one wasn't my fault.
Buscemi:
Well, of course not.
El Mariachi:
No, they started it.
El Mariachi:
[right before a firefight] Together again huh?
[cracks neck]
El Mariachi:
Let's play.
[El has just walked out of the confessional booth]
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...
Buscemi:
ya know, one of these days your gonna lie down too hard on that bed and blow your brains out.