Memory deserts him.
He wake’s up in the morning, crawl’s around and tries to find his savior. Cries a little, but nothing wrong with that. Bottle hits his lips and the pain liquidates. He wonders “what happened last night?”
Another stab at rememberance, another failure. His memory feels like a warped sundial and his body thousand’s of years old. “Time to start the day,” he croaks to no one in particular. His tree shaped six-foot-tall body groans its way to standing, nothing feels the way it should be. He leaves for the bathroom but branches into the kitchen instead, vomit disposal sloshes as he empties whatever poor choices he made the previous evening. Feeling more like himself he looks in the mirror. The reflection show’s a foreign invader he doesn’t recognize until his three-colored eyes bore into each other. “There you are” he says in a stronger voice.
Something metallic scrapes against the roof of his apartment, “sissy’s at it again” he thinks. Finding the closest clean pants and shirt he can, he transforms into normality. Putting on his supposed-favorite Detroit hat he opens the door and heads to the roof.