I was trying to locate the station to find the street of art supply stores the other day and ended up asking a rather androgynous bystander for directions. This svelte creature was donned in a form-fitting fashion tee with a metallic print, a bad dye job, and oddly-fitted cargo pants.

"Where are you from? Are you a student?" he asked me, in a halting Mandarin that mirrored mine.

I took a better look at his face. He had lost eyes, a beakish nose, a lot of pale foundation, and the kind of puffy lips that could have been enhanced with some clinical assistance. 

I later learned he was from Japan, living in China for the past eight years, and studying Chinese at Fudan.

He looked at the address on my phone for a while. I realized he was slowly reading the Chinese characters aloud to himself. I wasn't so sure if he was in a completely normal state as he walked in a coltish manner towards one of the subway attendants. I was nonetheless grateful for his determination. 

After thanking him for going out of his way to help me, he bid me farewell, but boarded same train as me. Curiosity killed me. 

"Do you like it here?"

He grimaced slightly. "Not very much."