Based on "Don Quixote" by Miguel de Cervantes and "Man Of La Mancha" by Dale Wasserman. What direction will it go? I have no idea.

MAN OF LA MIDDLETON

Two shabby men traveled the dusty road under the bright sun.

One rode a shabby mule. He was short and dressed in rough brown homespun. His face was bright pink and his two front teeth protruded noticeably.

The other rode a shabby horse. He was tall, gangly, and dressed moth-eaten leather and rusty armor, a pitted helmet on his head. His blonde beard was windblown, his cheeks were freckled, and he sang lustily.

"Hear me now, oh thou trampled and ignoble town, thou art flat as a piece of old bread,

And a knight who will bravely cast his gauntlet down shall now bring thee back from the dead,

I am I, Don Ronaldo, the Stoppable's eldest..."

The other interrupted. "Don Ronaldo," he asked wearily, "Tell me once again why we are riding during the siesta."

"Why, Rufio, my brave squire, what other time is there, that we may catch evil napping and engage in bold battle?"

"Perhaps in the cool of the evening, after we ourselves have rested and eaten?"

Don Ronaldo laughed heartily. "Nay, faithful servant, what are weariness and hunger to two rugged warriors like ourselves?"

Ruifo shrugged. "Well, if not to ourselves, how about to these two poor nags we're riding.? My Buyado could do with a chew of grain and a sip of water."

"Ah, old friend, thou dost speak wisely. Even the dumb animals should be recipients of our courtesy. Look, yonder are some trees for shade and stream for drink. What say you, my noble steed Bondigitado, shall we rest awhile?"

The fleabitten old horse only grunted.

"Well, then, thou hast earned thy rest for bearing us so regally on our journey thus far."

The two dismounted and let their animals graze in the grass while they sat leaning against a tree trunk. Don Ronaldo took off his helmet and sighed. "Ah, Rufio, does it not fill thy heart with gladness that we are honored to serve our Noble Lady and ride on the glorious Quest?"

Rufio shook his head. "Master, we can't serve St. Mary; you're Jewish and I haven't been to confession for months."

"Hah, a clever jest, my shrewd but unlearned manservant. "'Tis not to the Mother of the Christ I refer, though I honor Her, as all women should be honored and esteemed by men of chivalry like ourselves." Don Ronaldo grew quiet and gazed at the distant sky. "No, the One of Whom I speak is My Lady, She Who has won my poor heart, She of Whom I strive to be worthy: the Lady Kimberlinea. I have never laid eyes upon Her, but I know Her as though She dwelt beside me. Her hair is as radiant as yonder sun, and her shimmering eyes are as green and as restful as the leaves of this tree under which we recline. Her smile is sparkling as the waters of this stream, and her heart is as vast as the sky under which we journey. She is the embodiment of all goodness. Her beauty is righteousness made visible."

To be continued?