Last night the whole crew showed up for breakfast

I'm in the old fire camp kitchen and every crew I ever worked with is there — the ones who quit, the ones who moved on, the ones who didn't make it off that ridge near Elk Mountain. Someone's flipping pancakes on a griddle that's way too small and the coffee's the bad kind, the kind we all pretended was fine. Nobody's saying anything important, just the usual morning noise, but I can hear every single voice. Then I wake up and the kitchen is just kitchen again, and I stand there a while listening to how empty it is.