It's quite the difference from his boisterous arrival one morning a few weeks ago. With the bulk of his personal belongings sold off to the town or stored elsewhere to keep space in the commune, it's almost impressive October still looks so. Out of place, a towering thing made of patches, pins, and hanging jewelry. He lights up a cigarette, stepping from the porch of the Parsons house- intentions to swing by the moving van he'd arrived in- to take stock of the things he'd still not managed to pass on to somebody with use for them- and the things he'd been smart enough not to tell that Sunflower woman he had with him. He pulls the chain from the hanging portion of his pants, making the short walk to where he'd been told to park the van and opening the back door- Stacks of boxes and supplies hidden artfully behind stupid, rich people furniture.
He's rifling around for a hit to sell to that Mercy boy at the oddities shop in return for keeping some of his more 'treasured' belongings out of the hands of the town proper, when he hears footsteps in the leaves outside. "Mm, six paces back, sugar, I'm armed and dangerous." He warns, hidden before straightening to his full size. "You lookin' for something in particular, baby, or are you after little old me? I don't do autographs no more."