There once were two sisters, Night and Death,
Death large, and Night small,
Night had the beauty of dreams, while Death,
Death was most lovely of all -

Hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!
Death was most lovely of all.

Seedy bars, betrayal, a beguiling woman... Sounds like something out of a pulpy noir thriller.
"Pepe was used to listening to his customers' complaints. But now it was he who needed to get something off his chest. It was the same old story - an unfaithful wife, in a city where everything was uncertain..."

It's like uncle Estevez always said - "If you gotta choose between your ride and savin' someone else's life, always choose the ride."

Another sinner finds himself in the place he belongs to. A trunk.
Gustavo now suffers the purgatory he deserves. And perhaps has a moment to examine his conscience. Let's hope he finds it before the trunk opens back up.

When you live among humans, it's essential to find a shared, fundamental point of understanding. "Truth" and "Good" are values proven to cause division, whereas beauty is universal.

Only one with chaos within can give birth to a dancing star.

V: You Sergei?
Sergei: Nice of you to ask. Lately I feel there is neon sign over my head that says "Sergei who fuck with Tiger Claws."

And the angels, the children of the heaven, saw and lusted after them, and said to one another: "Come, let us choose us wives from among the children of men and beget us children."

And all the others together with them took unto themselves wives, and each chose for himself one, and they began to go in unto them and to defile themselves with them, and they taught them charms and enchantments, and the cutting of roots, and made them acquainted with plants. And they became pregnant, and they bare great giants, whose height was three thousand ells: Who consumed all the acquisitions of men. And when men could no longer sustain them, the giants turned against them and devoured mankind. And they began to sin against birds, and beasts, and reptiles, and fish, and to devour one another's flesh, and drink the blood. Then the earth laid accusation against the lawless ones.

Man dies the way he was born: soft, weak and helpless. Death, the one certainty in this universe of chaos, can be both a tragic end and a release from suffering, It can come as an unexpected twist, or as a beautiful, crowning counterpart to a live well lived. The curse we face as humanity, the only living beings in constant awareness of death, is our inordinate focus on the fact. How much happier is the life of the gazelle that escapes the cheetah's clutches, thinking that it evaded death once and for all, than the poor soul living out his days knowing each step inches him closer to the void!

V: What is the sound of one hand clapping?
Zen Master: That depends - is someone clapping with you?

V: Guess I meant, I dunno... a happier ending... for everyone involved.
Johnny: Here, for folks like us? Wrong city, wrong people.

Bullets don't distinguish between tough and weak.

If planting bombs net enough, what can you do? You become bomb.

Some believe uncertainty is an evil that should be dispelled through divination. Others claim it's change that is evil. But that isn't true either. Every minute of every day, we each become someone new. We shouldn't fear change itself, but only who we might change into. Knowing one's path is moth important.