It was about this guy, Don Quijote, who was some kind of old retired knight or whatever that everyone thought was crazy because he was in love with some prostitute. Now, that didn't carry much weight with me at the time, because I really did think that the guy was crazy, because in the name of his hooker, his Dulcinea, the guy went charging after windmills, but now, as I look back on the whole—experience, I'll call it—Quijote's actions start to make a lot more sense.
You see, to him, this hooker, this lowlife slut, represented beauty. The most unimaginable beauty he had ever seen. He was ready to go off and fight wars and crusades in the name of her, and albeit, the fact that he thought windmills were dragons was probably a little unsettling for her, she seemed to love him in some way other than seeing him as a paycheck.
Now, as I think back on it, the Don was pretty damn romantic.
Maybe so was mine.
OK, technically he wasn't in love with me, and he didn't go charging off in my name to slay the terrible dragons of La Mancha, but he did fight for me. He gave me a fair chance. He didn't treat me like dirt. I could only imagine the flack he must have been getting at work, helping out a working girl. If it had been any other CSI on that case that day, I probably would have been locked up for assaulting that security guard.
And he saved my ass from Jack. Granted, he only delayed the inevitable—the inevitable being the bastard killing me—but he did buy us a little time. Not saying that sleeping with a hooker was his proudest moment, but I at least consider it a favorite memory of mine.
And then there was all the shit he went through after I was dead. His DNA and finger prints being all over the place. Honestly, Nicky. If I had known I was going to die that night, I would have cleaned up. Everything that he went through. All because of little old me.
I guess, in the end, I'd like to think of it as my being his Dulcinea. It kind of romanticizes the whole thing a little bit more, don't you think?
I guess the only thing I would want to ask him, after everything was said and done—
Was it worth it? Was it worth everything you went through for your Dulcinea?