The sidewalk sunlight was hell — I felt like Lawrence of Arabia‘s Gasim baking in the Nefud desert — as I stood for 90 minutes on King Street yesterday. I was a rush line to get into a public screening of Barrymore. I was sweating and melting, and I was beginning to smell like a gym towel on top of that. I will never again suffer like this in order to get into a TIFF public screening.
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