Because he was indeed.... molasses
He was, because he said he was. But more importantly, he was, because Charky compartmentalized all those birds, and the beach, and the shadows, and the dog he saw murdered, and even the old lady with the boot to the gut. He witnessed, silently, and bored by the stories he was forced to hear, was subject to the laws of physics. For any self-aware being, being molasses can be burdensome.
So off to nowhere did Charky go, slowly, if at all, because he was indeed... molasses.
On the West Coast, they all wear dust masks and tutus to support tablenak, the local catch phrase generation plant. Slowly, painfully slowly, Charky resolved to manifest his is-ness in an alternate location. Needless to say, his efforts proved inconsequential. The natural order of things had decreed alternate side of the street parking, and all bets were off. The writer (let's not presume to call him an author) decides, how about a Mikes Hard Lemonade?
Nah, ginger ale is more apropos.