He stands with his legs spread apart and his hands gripped onto the worn leather belt that is wrapped around his coat. On his feet are thick, heavy black work boots with soles that look slightly warped and well used, like the tires on an old truck that have never been changed. His pants are made of a thick yellow canvas, probably it used to be a distinguished yellow, but now it is more of dirty tan. The pants are covered in pockets, goodness knows what’s in them all, but I can see the outline of a myriad of objects, the tools of his trade.

His coat is made of the same heavy duty canvas that looks like it’s crafted from a ships sail and it has just as many pockets. Tucked in the worn leather belt is a machete, and the wooden handle, polished to a sparkle from extensive use, says he know how to use it.

From under the cuffs of the sleeves peaks a thick cotton shirt that was probably white, but is now a muddy shade of gray. The hands that grip the belt are strong and well built, covered in skin with the texture of elephant hide. Rounded nails, thick fingers, and tough skin, they are hands used to hard work.

As my eyes travel up they finally come to his face, a strong, square jaw and a large, well defined nose. His large flat lips are pursed in a serious expression as if they are trying to hide a secret, but the crinkles around his mouth tell another story. They say that he loves to laugh and joke, maybe he used to be the class clown, the one that everybody in the classroom loved to be around.

The eyes that go with that mouth are dark and serious, once again they hold secrets, stories and adventures and horrors, but there, at the corner of his eyes, are those telltale wrinkles, betraying the serious expression. His short salt and pepper hair is hidden underneath a large helmet that is shaped like the hull of a boat and is proudly emblazoned with the words “Chief” and “KCFD”.

He is proud of who he is. He is a firefighter in every sense of the word.