In my hometown of Atlanta, graffiti generally means obnoxious scribbling in unattractive, unreadable, self-aggrandizing fonts, with one rare exception—the rail underpass at the intersection of DeKalb Ave. and Krog St., where Robert Mitchum's mug peeks out from the tunnel. But even graffiti artists tagging this single bright spot have to worry about vigilantes in trees.
Walking around the International and Latin Quarters in Montreal, though, is like walking through a spray-paint art gallery. Here are a few of my favorites (photographed on my iPhone) with suggested titles:
"Montreal Girls Are Super. I Just Wanna Eat Them Up."
"Ghosts of the Band"
"Dirty Rotten NBCiles"
"Tangled Up in Emo"
"We're a Happy Family"
"Self-Portrait of a Graffiti Artist"