“The smell of rawness weighing down on you in the Bronx tunnels. The whistle of a rusto fat cap in the midst of a silent Montreal night. The heat of a scorching sun crisping your neck while walking the train tracks. All these feelings make our blood boil and bring warmth to a writer’s heart. We bring you today some visuals of the past months in graffiti from a few mooks in our entourage. From the Rosemont train track landscapes to the Plateau’s hectic streets, a quick recap of piecing, throwups and general crunkness à la Mook Life. Signed, sealed and delivered… the streets is watching.”
What can I tell you? I love this stuff.