Toronto – Canada’s Hollywood and New York bricked into one, an empire built and founded upon blood and polished stone. Its glossy marble veins weave so precisely through its heart three-million deep, as if a guide into one of this planet’s illest playgrounds for mobile renegades. The black-wax clots run random at its foundation like varicose veins, echoing its legends, its masters, and its history of trickology carved in stone. The chisel, a skateboard.
Being a diverse depot of all nations, Toronto bears all traits of a metropolis, from the posh to the projects, from the slanderous to the wretched security. “Just one more try!” The most quoted last words are muffled under the rolling thunder, although stressless to cross the street to the next hit. Just let the trolleys rumble by and then attack like a swarm of disgruntled wasps, but only with love for who we are and where our well-spread family resides.
What Toronto offers is versatility, what you need is the ability to adapt. Seven-ply clatter fades into the night accompanied by the faint voices of youthful infatuation, knowing these are the hours when the guards nod off or temporarily leave their posts. That’s when the herds roll in again.
A figure eight, a constant cycle that only migrates to the skateparks when the winters creep in like anesthetic. Held together by trust and love, we carve our names in this city in stone.
With knowledge of these concrete arteries and how they flow, we become the ill blood that bleeds into its granite heart – hell to some, heaven to others. Welcome to paradise, where masters are born and the fake get served. Welcome to Toronto. – Paul Otvos, Justin Bokma, and Dan Bochart