I look and listen for this man whenever I change subway lines at Roosevelt Ave. in Queens.
I often find him midway on the Manhattan-bound platform, facing the E and F trains.
In quiet moments I hear the melancholy strains of the erhu, a two-stringed Chinese violin.
The chords convey the vastness of China, the long history, the pain, the hope.
His own story, I do not know.
He keeps his head down, plays to the beat from a mobile speaker.
He puts a modest cardboard box between his sneakers.
I stand up close. His China is not the neon-and-skyscraper China I encountered at the 2008 Olympics in Beijing, after they bulldozed most of the hutongs, the old neighborhoods.
I take a few photos on my iPhone. He does not seem to notice.
I drop $5 in the box and say “Xie Xie” -- thanks, in Mandarin.
He says, “Thank you.”
Then my train arrives.
(With homage to Joni Mitchell's "For Free" 1970)