We'd endured two hours of a dire burlesque comedy, high up on the back benches of the cinema in degrees well over 40. 

The Troupe went as far as getting an encore at which point my body had turned to molten liquid and slipped like mercury mercifully out onto the street.

It was a little cooler here.  

I listened to the dying notes of a dire spectacle, lit a cigarette and contemplated the shutter opposite the cinema, wondering why the heart had been cut between two planks.