Bloor Station is the main artery of the Toronto Transit Commission. It connects the subway’s major lines and contains one of the few and putrid washrooms on the system. It doesn’t display any murals (College Station) or sculptures (Museum Station) to distract commuters from the filth caked onto its walls and platforms. It’s the busiest station in the city with an estimated 205,500 daily passengers – all leaving their mark on the worn stop.

Last week, at a particularly vulnerable moment, I encountered a message on a platform wall that, at the time, could only be interpreted as an omen. In faint childish writing, these words appeared: “David Look Up.” It was a personalized message, just for me, or one of the thousands of other Davids in the city. Either way, I felt connected to a higher power. I wanted to kiss the busker playing guitar next to me. But first I had to obey the message. I looked up only to find more writing: “Gross”. That’s it – one disappointing word with an arrow next to it pointing up. The initial luster of the experience began to fade. I looked up again, expecting minor prophecy, or at least, amusing smut. Instead, I found what looked like fungus coming out of the ceiling.

It was gross, but I was played like so many Davids before me. I no longer believe in anything.

Update: Upon closer inspection, I found out the message is “Don’t Look Up,” which makes the experience less personal and more demeaning.