everybody knows joe By C. M. Kornbluth At least two persons live in each of us. At least one of them is Joe. _For a young man Cyril Kornbluth has been around a long time--at least in the upper reaches of science fiction and fantasy writing. His "Little Black Gag" is already accepted as a classic, his collaborations with Judith Merril "Mars Child" and Frederik Pohl "The Space Merchants," novels of high entertainment and worth. We are delighted to present him in a little story that should scare the pants off everybody._ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe October-November 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Joe had quite a day for himself Thursday and as usual I had to tag along. If I had a right arm to give I'd give it for a day off now and then. Like on Thursday. On Thursday he really outdid himself. He woke up in the hotel room and had a shower. He wasn't going to shave until I told him he looked like a bum. So he shaved and then he stood for a whole minute admiring his beauty in the mirror, forgetting whose idea it was in the first place. So down to the coffee shop for breakfast. A hard-working man needs a good breakfast. So getting ready for a backbreaking day of copying references at the library, he had tomato juice, two fried eggs, three sausages, a sugared doughnut and coffee--with cream and sugar. He couldn't work that off his pot in a week of ditch-digging under a July sun, but a hard-working man needs a good breakfast. I was too disgusted to argue with him. He's hopeless when he smells that short-order smell of smoking grease, frying bacon and coffee. He wanted to take a taxi to the library--eight blocks! "Walk, you jerk!" I told him. He started to mumble about pulling down six hundred bucks for this week's work and then he must have thought I was going to mention the high-calorie breakfast. To him that's hitting below the belt. He thinks he's an unfortunate man with an affliction--about twenty pounds of it. He walked and arrived at the library glowing with virtue. * * * * * Making out his slip at the newspaper room he blandly put down next to _firm_--_The Griffin Press, Inc._--when he knew as well as I did that he was a free lance and hadn't even got a definite assignment from Griffin. There's a line on the slip where you put down _reason for consulting files (please be specific)_. It's a shame to cramp Joe's style to just one line after you pitch him an essay-type question like that. He squeezed in, _Preparation of article on year in biochemistry for Griffin Pr. Encyc. 1952 Yrbk._, and handed it with a flourish to the librarian.