We decided to take a chance on which way was north, and were blearily making our way through a park when a man ran up to us and excitedly pointed out that Zac's backpack and pants had been splattered with grease. We were pretty sure the man had done it himself so he could grab our bags when we were cleaning up, but before I had a chance to punch him in the face, another man ran over and scared the first away. He tried to explain that he was with the police and we should watch out for tricksters trying to grab anything they could, but we didn't trust his plainclothes and chintzy, laminated ID, so we hoofed it to the hotel.
We didn't lose anything, and the grease came out, but next time I step out in Buenos Aires' I'm bringing my ganas de pelear.
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