Pablo wanted to be a bullfighter all of his life. On his deathbed, when asked if he had any regrets, he said I never fought the bulls. So the doctors and the nurses called a nearby farm and that evening sure enough they brought a bull to Pablo‘s room. It was a small bull and rather docile. They may have drugged it. Even so, getting it up the elevator wasn’t easy, the stairs were impossible. But there he was, Pablo hooked to so many machines and tubes and wires, finally face-to-face with a bull. He died of a heart attack.