Written by: Sebastien La Croix
Cosmopolitan is (perhaps) the easiest way to describe the city of Toronto. The city is full of dual realities. There is just as much good in this place as there is bad. As much possibility as there is impossibility. Truth be told there are many contradictions required to sustain the harmony of this extraordinary place. I can help you understand this better by introducing you to Nic and Carmel. Nic is a corporate lawyer; he makes a six-figure income, drives a Maserati, dines twice a week at Panorama, and takes his Friday night drinks over at Ultra Super Club on Queen Street. He’s 36, successful, good looking, educated, and just so happens to fuck some of the city’s most beautiful women on the regular. Nic’s problem is he’s bored despite the fact that he has very little time on his hands. On the other hand Carmel is a rare books and antiquities dealer who owns a small shop in the city and lives just upstairs from it. Carmel’s life paced to her own liking: she travels at least once a month to make significant purchases other wise the bulk of her business is done online. To sustain her income she doesn’t need to keep the shop, but since it was her parent’s it has a sentimental value to her she’s not willing to let go of. Carmel is 28, short, feisty, and very Mediterranean looking. She’s not the kind of beautiful men notice right away: Carmel’s beauty is the kind men today take for granted. It’s the kind of beauty that at first glance isn’t visible but once you look closely the many facets of its wonder are revealed to you. These two come from completely different worlds and yet they live in the same city; and in every way that is right and wrong they embody what the city is. To better understand this I’m going to share with you the story of Nic and Carmel. (more…)
Written by: Lara Sabian
In the time it took the short red head behind the counter to draw a smiley on the froth of my caramel macchiato I reconciled the fact that the possibility of getting the tall dark and handsome cashier’s number was long gone. Some people spend their whole lives trying to reconcile even the smallest of inevitable probabilities; I reconciled mine in the time it takes to draw a smiley: somehow, I still didn’t feel lucky. But, as it were (as it is for all of us really), one never knows how lucky they are until that lucky moment is replaced by a more unlucky moment that is irredeemable in every way. As I took my caramel macchiato I caught a glimpse of that very sexy cashier writing his number down for a very tall and blonde (and very chic looking) gentlemen; the cashier subtly caressed the other gentleman’s hand ever so slightly as he handed over the small piece of paper…I was luckier when the petite red head was making that smiley face…I just couldn’t have known it until I looked left when I should have been looking right.
Having looked left I walked back to my table with very little regard for what was right. Often we all get lost in our tunnel vision when we are determined to be let down by events that are otherwise inconsequential. Perhaps, if we relied more on the peripheral we’d get a better idea of what that good old “everything happens for a reason” really means. So I sat with a heavy heart. Not because two of the best looking guys in the room were gay men, but rather, because for a moment I wished I was one of them-even if only secretly.
Quickly I digressed back into the studious girl who was 4 months over due for a trim at the salon and way too comfortable in her joggers and now caramel stained gray t-shirt. To be completely honest the t-shirt was actually a very old and thinly worn long john shirt I often slept in…sleeping in it made getting dressed for studying a lot more convenient especially when studying on Sunday mornings was the furthest thing from that. In a matter of moments I was swept back into the dull essence of myself. The lingering yearning for something exciting was laid to rest as is often done by people like myself. I sipped on my caramel macchiato and let the moments of my youth be consumed by the relics of academia. Of course, that was until Santo sat down next to me. Well, not exactly next to me but in the seat closest to me. Most people when inviting themselves to your table will sit directly across from you: Santo wasn’t like most people or most men for that matter. (more…)
Written by: Sabra Malcorum
Once upon a time, in a land far away from the eyes and ears of this world there lived a young man named Lucien. Lucien lived alone in the center of the city just beyond the castle gates. To the right of his home was a theatre, to the left was a market/café, directly across the street was a bookstore, and next to that was a tailor. Lucien had everything a young man could ever possibly need with in 50 paces across or to either side of his front door. And so it was that Lucien would rise with the sun and work the day, as it is right for any young man to do. In Lucien’s mind life was simple and kind-needless to say he was a strange young man full of strange notions and emotions which made sense to none if but to himself. The earth beneath him meant relatively nothing despite the fact that it was what brought him everything of sustenance; the trouble was it supposed him very little substance.
He was a striking young man at first glance. Although he looked at all who passed him by he truly saw no one. It seemed as though Lucien walked through life looking for what simply was not there. His eyes saw in people what they could not see in themselves. He never shared his findings with his passer by’s which left an air of intrigue about him. Half of his allure was everything people did not know. You see, although Lucien lived and worked in the city beyond the castle gates he somehow was a stranger to it. Monsieur Gaston at the Market had prepared his groceries for some years but had no idea as to what Lucien’s favorite of anything was. Madame Gaston prepared his coffee every morning but could not tell you how he took it even if you asked her. Gaspard the tailor had dressed him since he was a boy and yet it was a mystery to him how tall Lucien actually was. Sabine and Charlotte from the old bookstore across the street had sold him books for the better part of 10 years and still they could not tell you his preference in author or genre. He was a mystery to all despite the fact that they’d known him all their lives. Nonetheless, Lucien was a very well liked young man, sought after even. (more…)
