He doesn't fit. That's the first thing everyone notices, and the only detail they remember. They saw a little old man, and he didn't fit.
It isn't his fault. Not directly. He has a place, of course - everything does, sooner or later - but he can no longer find it. It is lost, and he squeezes into cracks as best he can, dreaming of home.
Home doesn't exist. Home is another causality, a different spacetime.
Home is dead. He killed it.
It was necessary. This fact occasionally comforts him.
But he is the only one who remembers, and so he must dream.