Nothing much bothered Josh. Least of all a sandy-haired, freckled faced motormouth like Barnabus Willaby the Third. Josh was also the oldest at ninete...n and kind of the defacto leader of the gang. Nothing official or set in stone, but if shit went down Josh was always the first one to stand up and the kind of guy who would go the extra yard for you."Lumber probably," he said in that drawl of his, "Working for the old man until the old man ain't working anymore. From then on I'll be my own boss.. .. AYYYYY!"Those interested in a broader, if somewhat popular, treatment of issues of self reference, should see "Godle, Escher, Bach" by Douglas R. Hofstadter. The rest of you, who may be tiring of this postmodernist horseshit by now, can go right on to the story below.I know a lot a people have been wondering why Celeste has withdrawn "temporarily" from publishing the Celestial Reviews. I don't suppose anyone actually believes the phony explanation she put out in CR 310. Hard disk crash. Haa!. She hurriedly draws away and towers over me, my body still bouncy slightly from her movements. She reaches up into the canopy of the bed and grabs something that comes down with a crack, a whip.I watch in slight fear, and a word comes to mind, Friday. Somehow I know, if I were to utter it, even the slightest, she'd stop. I frown slightly at the thought then clear away the memories to focus on the present. Her smile shows teeth as she leans down and gently strokes the whip over my package, which. ‘We can go back,’ I said, meaning it, ‘I should have gotten you a room at a Red Roof.’ I had my credit cards. Why in the hell had I agreed to bring her home? ‘I’m safe here, right?’ Amber asked. About thirty minutes too late. ‘Yes,’ I answered, ‘but if you don’t feel safe, it doesn’t matter.’ She bit her lip as she assessed my words. ‘I can take you back,’ I repeated. ‘No,’ Amber decided. She didn’t elaborate as she opened the passenger side door. I sat there watching her get out, grabbing.