From the best book I’ve ever read about Death and alcoholism, which just happens to be a great work of Art, as well. Not for the faint of soul.

The book, Under the Volcano, by a degenerate named Malcolm Lowry, taught me:

“¿LE GUSTA ESTE JARDIN QUE ES SUYO? ¡EVITE QUE SUS HIJOS LO
DESTRUYAN!”

And also learned me a bit about delirium tremens:

“How, unless you drink as I do, could you hope to understand the beauty of an old Indian woman playing dominoes with a chicken?”

The movie educated me that it’s best not to feed and be kind to stray dogs. At least the stray dogs which end up being the walking, barking, blatant metaphors for Death:

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