This is a ghost story. A junkie has gone to El Zapotal to die - to rent a room in this crumbling backwater, melt into one last fix, and not come back. For someone so ready to no longer be alive, though, he can't stop clinging to the past. His old dog, Kid, who he abandoned. His love, Valerie, who he introduced to drugs. There's no such thing as a good memory.

El Zapotal doesn't want him either. The people aren't welcoming, the streets are empty except for strays, and he's having trouble pacing his supply. As the drugs run out, the line between what's real and what's not blurs to the point of illegibility, and we're left wandering a tenderly described hinterland of despair, hunger, and regret. García Elizondo has given us an homage to Pedro Páramo, a descent for the ages, a long goodbye with no clear line between the living and dead.