In a city of more than 16 million, it's easy to look past the individual. Today I met one man who shows a more personal side to Beijing. Like many from his generation, he didn't get an education because of the Cultural Revolution. He is a self-trained artist and an unlikely collector of antiques. Qiteng and I began talking when I stopped to ask if his pet birds, hanging delicately on two branches, could talk.

Turns out one of his birds could. After I talked with him a little longer on the street, the friendly Qiteng invited me into his shop for a cup of tea. He showed me around his shop -- or at least I thought it was his shop -- and then sat me down with some jasmine tea. Hoping to practice his English he settled into his seat and began his life story.

Qiteng has a curious tale to tell. After the Cultural Revolution he was denied admission into university, having missed a proper education due to years of government enforced manual labor and military service. In 1979, when China and Japan engaged in friendly and cooperative ties, Qiteng decided to learn Japanese hoping to make money. A natural, he was soon translating for a Chinese antique store in Beijing's antique district Liulicheng. At the same time, Qiteng worked in a factory that made chops (marble and stone blocks that are carved and used in China as an official signature). He became passionate about designing and carving chops.

Despite what may sound like a series of fortunate events, Qiteng has yet to open his own shop. The antique store where he still works gives him materials to make his own chops but he can't afford his own place to sell those chops. He typically goes from district to district, selling his chops on the street until the police ask him to leave. When I commented that his work must be very hard, he replied: "But I must work, it is my food."

Like many people in Beijing, Qiteng lives the life of a vagabond. Seated outside, next to the tree with the two bird cages, is his dog. "My dog and my birds, they are my family." He told me that the shop we were sitting in, was not his. The owner was kind enough to let him stay for a week and set up his chops on a small table.

Qiteng has a home but it is outside of the city. He remains in Beijing because business is better here, but he has no home in the city. "Sometimes I sleep on my chair." He points to his little tuk-tuk, a tiny little motorbike with a compartment in the back big enough to fit two small people. "Sometimes I sleep in my car. It's nice, not too hot and I take it down by the river."

So, what does Qiteng think about the Olympics? Not much, except that it might bring him an extra customer or two.