Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, et al., own the entire Buffyverse, along with my soul. My ficlet means no harm and makes no means.
Summary: Welcome to Sunnydale, where nobody wins, including the public services man. A Seeing Red footnote.
Rated for: Two bad words.
The Sign Man
Kenny Doodles grunted as he shifted the fallen metal signpost, sifting some of the dirt off onto his orange work pants.
One day, he was going to mount a security camera on the adjacent fence, and he would catch the villain who did this awful deed not once nor twice, but now for a third time. Then he would personally get the dirtbag locked away for years, centuries even. Malicious crime deserved to bear the full brunt of the law.
As Kenny righted the sign, he noted that the perpetrator must've been entering town this time, since the words stood out, face up in the grit. Good, Kenny thought, another chance to catch the jackass.
The sound of an approaching motorcycle distracted Kenny, who stood up quickly with a piece of metal. It was just after sundown, anyhow, and being armed and alert was never not a good idea in Sunnydale.
Kenny saw with some distaste that the approaching motorcyclist had a blinding bleached hair job and looked angry enough to kill. As the wheels flew toward him, Kenny realized with sudden horror that he was about to get run over.
Cursing, Kenny swiftly hauled the sign up and shuffled to the road side, moments before the man plowed through the roadside dirt with reckless abandon.
Kenny looked on with a note of amusement when the man's facial expression flipped like a dime from righteous fury to outright confusion.
An indignant British voice floated back to him.
"Where'd that bloody sign go?"
Kenny saw red.