Ah yes, how he loved the sweet release of death, especially when he never asked for it in the first place—but then again, he always did seem to have some strange tendency to attract all the annoying things in life toward his direction, despite his honest efforts to steer clear of bothersome things. Everything always backfired on him, but, honestly, what had he done to bring death of all things upon himself?
Curse the world, but especially this inconvenient memory loss and his current state of having no idea what to do with himself now that apparently his family was dead. He had spent plenty of time wandering around like a lost child (alternatively, he was a lost child at this point, but his pride absolutely wouldn’t stand for such a disgraceful label), trying to find someone he might recognize, but his search could only be described as fruitless and in vain.
He could really use some encouragement right now. And food.
So the search for family more or less transitioned into a search for food.
He had no family, no money, no food—but right now, he really needed food to survive and not die a second time. (Theory: Maybe his diet consisting of nothing but McDonald’s and ice cream was what killed him, and the world. He should’ve listened to those infomercials.) Desperate times called for desperate measures, in this case, he had to throw away what little (substantial) amount of pride he had and do the unspeakable: ask for help.
People tended to be nicer to children, so with that in mind, he forcefully grabbed the sleeve of someone who seemed nice. Probably. His judgement was a little off at times, but lord help him lest he chose someone who was anti-children. “Excuse me...” Be nice, be nice, be nice. “I really need food.” Nice.
