His name is George. Simply George, no last name to speak of, at least in his own mind, to the rest of the world it is Markham. George has several psychological issues that force him to need a caretaker for his day to day activities. He has a simple job working on a dock exactly one block down and one block over from his house. Every day when George goes to work he counts his steps, to the exact number of 1,482, timing his pace perfectly. At home he has the hobby of creating works of art from Starburst wrappers. He has a dozen roommates, each with their own distinctive personality who generally operate outside his scope. That wouldn't be very difficult to do.
Today is a very special day to George. It's hot dog day and that means more to him than anything else that could possibly occur on Wednesday. Nothing could satisfy George quite like a hot dog from the Greek vendor that arrived at the dock every Wednesday. There was something about the way the Grecian fellow made the hot dog, whether it was the spices he used, the tzaziki he smothered it in or the feta he used that struck George's palette that was normally a home to the most fundamental of sustenance choices.
George left his apartment going through the same routine he has gone through since the passing of his mother twenty years prior. George had a poor sense of time passing so in order to compensate and appease his infinitely patient boss, he developed a routine, guided by his caretaker Alyssa.