If anyone asked he'd say he's a hunter from the South who somehow ends up here, twice a month, like clockwork. He's a drifter, going from place to place, from town to town. They'd understand. All hunters are wanderers in the end.
He curses the day he saw his first demon because he'd wanted to drop everything and sink to the ground. He curses the day he learned how to kill one because it meant he'd have to live anyways; but the day he regrets the most is the day he stopped hunting altogether because it meant he had nothing left to hunt for.
He never did learn how to drop that leash because he still shows up at the Roadhouse and listens to the hunters talk because there's nothing left except alcohol that doesn't work and other people's fates.
So he sits silently and waits for the day Hell finally comes and claims him for their own.