1943
Population. 1943
Even painted over, the 2 was still visible if you looked at the sign at an angle. And the previous 1 if you were real close, but from a passing car, residents or the occasional visitor to Sleepy Falls would see, if they were paying attention, that a new resident now inhabited the town. Ted wiped his brow with his customary cotton handkerchief and reseated the dusty Sheriff's Hat. 

"It's not straight." said this week's Deputy, who decided to punctuate this pearl of wisdom with an increasingly annoying, yet habitual spitting out the passenger window. 

The fact he was right offended Ted all the more. But this particular dip shit hadn't been up all night, covered in blood, delivering #1943 in the back of a patrol car. He would be very familiar with night shifts from now on though. That was one of the advantages of being Sheriff. 

The baby was scrawny. The mother, scared more white than a rabbit in headlights on a freeway, couldn't have been more that 13. She was still haemorrhaging when the paramedics arrived. Ted just hoped he wouldn't be out here tomorrow reinstating the 2.