46.) In Mendoza, Lancelot sat with no clear plan in a gigantic yuppie bar along Aristides, the strip where The Children of The World's End strut their stuff. The girls and boys were dressed to kill and skinny and unflappable in their panache. The fresh young bodies, ultra slim, the cherry bottoms in blue jeans, the shiny faces, product-fresh, they all conspired to take a man who'd been catching glimpses of his grave and punch his ego with twin fists. The only cards he had to play were several hundred peso bills. He drowned his dick in beer and cheese.