Fire Solves All Problems Perfectly pt 42

The lobby of the station is empty save for the glass display cases holding Dan Bell’s racing trophies and the firemen’s volleyball team trophies and the certificates and awards for excellence from the mayor and city council. There are photos of rescues the firemen never want to forget, like the mill fire and the roof collapse that made Dan Bell’s name, copies of which you have back home waiting to be hung in the dining room. Slogans are painted on the walls in careful red cursive: Firemen Bust Their Asses To Save Yours! Your Worst Day Is Our Best! Fire Is A Hell Of A Motivator! There are annual crew photos of the squads with their Lieutenants, though Dan Bell has shoved the one with David Kittredge (that motherfucking rat) with his squad to the back, and someone has draped a piece of black ribbon over the corner of Cavard’s. These pictures go back in time, back before you were born, before your fathers were born, to when the engines were horse-drawn and pump-actioned, back to the very first picture marked 1912 and the firemen were guys in flat caps and breeches and boots.

You linger after your friends have pushed through the metal doors to the kitchen inside, staring into the eyes of the dead firemen. Your own picture will be here one day.