Red to Portage

Lazlo's only real hobby was walking about the streets late at night and 'collecting' graffiti artists. He'd pull on his soundless, sneaky hightops and a black hooded sweater and jump from his bedroom window to the garage roof to the backlane. His neighborhood was beautiful in the daylight but at 5 am it was a mysterious wonderland of thick sleepy greenery. Lazlo would spend the kind of time he couldn't find to clean his room on scouring the streets for tags he hadn't seen yet. He sincerely enjoyed the odd piece of art that someone would leave for him but the rest was like a living game of Where's Waldo.

Marking wasn't something Lazlo was interested in for himself but he did leave a small red check next to all the graffiti he noticed. These marks were only so he knew what was old and was new. Sometimes it was honestly hard to tell the difference. He stalked the whole neighborhood from the river to Portage Ave and so it wasn't always easy to keep up with 23 blocks of dark lanes and unlawful citizens.


Lazlo took great pleasure in his hobby and the sensation and thrill of seeing change all around him. His neighborhood would grow and increase like an ant farm that he only had to watch and never water or feed. It was a living breathing pet that never died and never needed him. Which is why it was deeply disturbing to him when his own hand was drawn into his project.

On a hot night in early June, the lolipop moon sitting above the trees caught his eye from the window and he decided that night bright enough to take a walk. Upon landing in the broken cement and sand of his back lane Lazlo pointed his feet in the direction his bangs blew. Lighting a cigarette, he walked out to the park. The only sounds at 5 am is of far away traffic and restless birds and while he scoured backlanes and dumpsters and fences for new art and new intrigue, his music player slept at home.

A new artist had left their mark on the fence across the street from the swings. His heart lept and he bounded over to go inspect their work. Getting closer, he read it as a message written quite plainly and in large block letters. They'd written in a large blue marker that you could only buy at a shop downtown and there only in black or white. This blue ink was unique.

I LOVE YOU

He grinned widely and checked the graff with his red marker. He imagined the writer to be a child of a hippie with long hair and a cassette tape collection.

Two weeks later, the message was written on almost anything that wouldn't blow over and Lazlo had decided it was in a very distinctive trail from the park outside his house to his highschool at the edge of the area. The idea that it was maybe somehow possible that someone was watching him and leaving him a message along the way he walked to school everyday was maddening.
Who would do that? The mystery of it assaulted him daily.

Lazlo started to take the long way to school and one day stopped in at the Cafe. He deliberately walked into a small cute short haired girl with a white cotton top, her messenger bag was knocked from her shoulder. All manners of things fell out and he bent to help her pick them up. He inhaled deeply when he saw the blue graff marker she shoved right quick back into her bag. She pulled teacher black glasses from her capri pants pockets and excused herself, " I didn't even see you. I'm sorry, I'm so blind without these dang things".
Lazlo's heart leaped into his throat and his knees would have buckled if he hadn't already been kneeling.
He bought her a soy green tea latte and she gave him her phone number. She'd just moved here from Vancouver and had seen him wandering everynight and had fallen hopelessly in love with his mysterious restlessness.
Lazlo joined his new girlfriend in her hobby and by summer, messages of love and devotion over crowded the gang symbols and art filled the streets by night for years to come.