I was walking on the grimy upper level of the 179St. subway station in Jamaica, Queens today when I saw something strange. All of the payphones had been removed from the thick pillars lining the walkway — that’s not the strange thing, I’d noticed it before — but something hanging from the ceiling lightly brushed against my jacket. It was a black, insulated wire that was plugged into an electric outlet at the top of a pillar. The wire was attached to a cellphone that hung there in suspension. Curious, I stepped a little closer when I heard someone call out “Hey!” One of the homeless men I often saw sprawled on the benches in the station had noticed me. He stood, a bit unsteadily, cautiously taking a step away from his belongings in a large, plastic garbage bag. He wore long underwear, suspendered pants and a frayed woolen cap. I could see that something was bothering him as he squinted in my direction, glowering protectively. Then he made a sweeping gesture with his arm, warning me to keep away while he was recharging his phone.