Fitting (A New Man)

It's fucking cold.

I could cheerfully kill the basted. Really.

All his hypocritical talk about wrong and right, good and evil…

Just trying to help, and look where it gets me. Kicked to the sodding streets at three in the morning.

The motel will be locked up tight as a rats arse.

Not the first time I've had to sleep rough.

But it's worse then just that –I'd let myself hope….

Killing him won't solve anything.

And besides, I can think of something more fitting.

Tomorrow everyone will see the face that I'm presented with when I see Rupert Giles.