Right now he don't have any worry, he don't have any wonder. He spends his nights walking. He takes in things around him: house, car, cat. He sees kinship in the people he sees so late. The word undead comes to his mind.
He sees his skin get pale. Every day get paler, paler. Soon he knows he will be see-through. Soon the vessels will pop, arms embossed. Soon everyone will see what's inside. Soon everyone will know.
So he keeps it late. Fewer out and those that are understand. People go through the same thing, walk through the same night. Only some call it different.
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