Old man, old house

It was a pleasure to burn. Freitag saw it as a special privilege to see the tomes they ripped out of makeshift libraries erupt in harsh light. Yet most delightful was when the ice succumbed to its heat and melted down to nothing. Oh how Freitag loved the ice melting, to see the defined crystalline architecture be amassed into one puddle on the ground. He even loved it more than the black butterflies that melted the Ice.

Freitag hated the ice, but the last regiments of Firemen were stuck in a frozen exile. That was why he hated the intellectuals even more, they left them there. They didn't appreciate the power of fire, the ferocity of its hunger, or its ability to make everything one in the same. He thought of how sorrowful it was when they rebuilt the city, outlawing the firemen, putting limits on the beetles, and allowing books to be... Freitag couldn't finish that thought.
It was because, just as he hated the Ice, he hated the books. They confused and distracted him from his screen lounge in the Firehouse. Who wanted to feel sorrow or mull over useless conflicting opinions when he could watch a rerun of the white clown? Reruns were all there were anyways, but no one cared, they simply forgot.

Freitag then started his long walk home on the frozen pavement while the man inside was arrested. It was not his job to go after the poor intellectuals who foolishly decided to bring books here, to Fireman country, when they could easily walk on over to those... intellectuals. He was simply the clean up crew in this expansive frozen waste, yet no matter how much they torched, it never seemed to grow warmer.

The special seashell hummed in Freitag's ear when an old man hobbled over the frozen pavement. Freitag was surprised to see him, not because of his age or the weather but rather because he was walking. No one here was walking unless they were hungry or they were a fireman going back to their firehouse.
"Old man, why are you out here?" Freitag asked assertively.

"The name is Guy," he replied warmly.
"Well guy, what made you want to walk?" Freitag said with gritted teeth hidden behind the bulk of his fire suit.

"Because it's nice out here" Guy paused and then said," Say, what's your name?"

"I'm Freitag and I doubt you think its nice out here, the only people who like walking are those damn intellectuals, especially when the cold stings every time you breathe," Freitag uttered in almost a growl.

The old man remained cheery and replied," well what you call a sting I call refreshing, and no thank you, I'm not one of those intellectuals, though they are a nice lot."
Freitag scoffed," Nice lot! Guy you must be going senile, if Guy is even your real name. It's so generic that you coulda forgot your real one and replaced it for this!"

Guy's demeanor dipped slightly but he picked it right back up," Well have you ever talked to an intellectual? Yes there are pretentious ones but at least they're still people."

Freitag roared with laughter," STILL PEOPLE?!?! Guy, I think you've got dementia cause real people know that I'm gonna be late for the white clown rerun instead of going on and on about Jesus and Don Quixote, when they're just advertisement characters!"
Guy's eyebrow lifted slightly and said," Well real people know they aren't background characters, there's much more to them than that."

Freitag howled in joy and sputtered out," OH, OH SO JESUS THE WINE MERCHANT IS THE SAVIOR OF MAN THEN? HAH! Ohhh, you look too deeply into catchphrases, anyways Guy I am late for the white clown so I must keep on walking."

Guy got a funny look on his face and said," Then allow me to accompany you, I could fall down at any moment on this slippery ice."
But Freitag ignored Guy and kept on walking, quietly humming "Blood on the risers" and ignoring both Guy's presence and the light snowfall. But Guy didn't ignore Freitag, and would make sure the speeding beetles wouldn't run him over if he drifted too close to the street.