The Toronto Graffiti Scene is not represented fairly here.

So if you're looking for coffee, go to Tim Horton's.  It's a Beeg Ceety.  To big for the Wee Green Irish People that inhabit the back alleyways and lay down cryptic Celtic Runes with pointy and wiry little tag tails.

All I had time for in Toronto was the alleyways behind Queens.  One day I'll go back, perhaps in my memories, as I recline on my Lazyboy in a Retirement Village somewhere.  I'll be living in my "gated community", where all the walls are stucco, and where automatic garage door-openers take the stress out of motoring to the 7-11 for a pack of Cigarillos.

Toronto is like this:  if you took a gigantic hot waffle-iron and compressed the shit out of New York City, sprayed it with Lysol and replaced "negro" with "Queen Elizabeth", you'd have Toronto. 

Take it or leave it.  It's a concrete swamp in an Anglo-Saxon Shopping Mall.