I had a dream last night:
Jack Lemmon was trying to get into a movie theater (not, I don't think, to see one of his own movies). He was wearing a grey, pinstripe suit. Outside, there was a gang of young toughs, most of whom looked about 15. They moved so he couldn't get in. He plead with them but I couldn't understand what he was saying. They were clearly not going to let him in. They seemed to make a demand. He looked pensive and then reached into his coat and withdrew a pack of cigarettes from which he took roughly foot-long cigarettes and handed them out to the kids. They looked delighted, and accepted them as one might accept a puppy.