Drunk People are Unpredictable

Noemi:
     What happened to your knuckles?

don Carlos:
     Oh shit, yeah, that. So last night I'm walking home from the library--or was it the bar? both really--and I see this chick stumbling around on Durocher, obviously drunk as hell and all alone. What with that story about the serial rapist last month, I get concerned.
     "Hell," I say to myself, "that's no good. Rape booty for shore."
     So I walk over to her cautiously, like you do when approaching a wild animal. Drunk people are unpredictable. She's this little gal, though, Asian, maybe Korean or Mongolian. I get up close, she's kinda huddled up, leaning against the wall of some apartment building, and I put my hand on her shoulder--bit stupid, looking back. And she fuckin' whirls! comes at poor ol' me like a tornado. So I'm duckin' and weavin', getting the gist of her grit, yelling at her that I'm trying to help get her home safe but she won't listen, she's fallen off the sanity cruise ship.
     Anyway, I end up near knocking her out, but it was just self defence. No need to speak of criminal charges! I'm no goddamned rapist! I'm no menace! I'm just a nice guy; why does this shit always happen to me?

Mitch:
     Because you enjoy it so, silly man. You thrive in it and in the end you'll come out for the better.

don Carlos:
     Yeah, I s'pose you're right. I helped her up, walked her home and, you know, she invited me in.