A few thoughts of Toronto

In the north in a place with no distinguishing features I find myself walking and wandering nightly just hoping to find some sort of excitement. Out of place. As the liquor slips through the liver the world brightens up, but only in the darker places.

Who knows what brings out this nature here. Late nights stumbling through America consistently leads to finding partners in inebriation. Share a joint. Discuss drugs. Try a new bar. See what’s down an alley. Hop on a late night train to a new place and see what’s going on.

Cruising over the bridges of the Bay Area with our vision creating new colours. A new friend that works at Google. An Oakland native that has questionable life prospects. Everyone always happy to talk. To meet. To explore and become connected beyond the simple pleasantries. Where is that here? Texan nights of the strangest humans from all walks of life. An oil worker grabs you a drink while you stumble through the music of dirty sixth. College station beauties dance with you, then someone brings you to see the bats whip on by. New York sunrises after obscure concerts with tattooed Koreans sipping on pitchers with men in overpriced coats. Knoxville. Miami. Seattle. Montreal. Places with… energy. Something unique.

But Toronto just exists. People simply exist in it.

A place where upper classism is fetishized. By all. Dives are few and far between. What some consider to be one is still full with six figured men in four figure outfits. An Irish pub could be mistaken for a restaurant in Monaco. Ninety degree edges are a religion. The world’s top consumer of Edison bulbs and log tables and benches. Nothing is unique. Nobody tries to be. Not a single place for adults in the city where sideways looks hit you for wearing a suit.

Queen West. A place where hipsters somehow roam despite every shop is wallet donation centres. Thrift shops with minimum hundred dollar price tags. Thrift is an unknown word here. It’s special. Unused. It’s an event to use it. Saving money is such an oddity that it’s made an attraction. A full block thrift shop with Vegas lights filling the sky. Weekday sparsity. An out of towner and student hive. Fashion is what matters to the people here.

The most fascinating trait of the people here is their introverted extrovertedness. A constant willing to go out. An endless hatred of talking to a stranger. Not only me. An observation that extends to most. King Streets swarms of artificially tall women stick together in tribes. The men with tucked in shirts showing Versace belts and their 'clip clop' sidewalk trots exist only to scout women and cocaine. Like trees they stand and wait for a catch to stumble by and make eye contact. The clubs themselves troves of dealers of anything you please. Still nothing more unique than any other place.

I’ve been told I just wander in the wrong parts of town. Months then spent trying to find at least some character in the city left only disappointment. There are two choices. University or financial douchebag. No place to branch and be unique. Any claims otherwise simply don’t visit enough. Each area is only a tiny spin on the regular class of Toronto or meant for people under the age of 24.

No place will leave you with friends. A disgruntled look when an attempt is made to speak. Well dressed and a smile with ‘Hey, how are ya' gets nothing. Only at the bar itself with the flies who are alone will you get a conversation.

Make eye contact at a coffee shop and they will aggressively avoid it for the remainder. Nobody wants to know you.

A complete opposite to the southern neighbours. Those who don’t want to speak to you are those whom society avoids. Trips back down bring me joy with new friends and one off fellows. It seems Toronto is content with the circle they know. Who needs more?

The opposites continue with what may be the best trait in the city. The darkest places and people are often the brightest to the night. A step into a true dive yields the friendliest people. A stroll down a dark alley will find you exceedingly friendly hooligans tagging anything and asking for a smoke. Homeless people have stories to tell, and won’t ask for change if you’re listening. The people most willing to speak to everyone are the people everyone would be least willing to speak to. An opposite to any place mentioned previous. There is no fear in taking a shortcut. It is not a matter of taste. Those here should consider the last time they made a new friend in the city outside of work and sex. Those here should then think of the times they made friends elsewhere and outside of school. The frequency and ease is much greater outside of Toronto.

There is nothing special here. But it is changing.