Issue #66

Spring 2018 | May 2018

In this Issue:

Bulmania by Paul Blaney

cup with steam

It was decided to combine Bulgaria and Romania. Bulmania, the new country would be called, or possibly Rolgaria. Only, right away the two governments started raising the roof. We couldn't impose something like that on sovereign nations, and so on and so forth. So, first of all, we had to make it clear that, yes, in fact we could. Still they demanded to know why. What was the point of the measure? Discussions grew heated. We weren't in the habit, we retorted, of justifying our policy to all and sundry. What was the point of anything? What, we were tempted to ask, was the point of their two countries remaining separate? Read more...

40 by Julie Reeser

cup with child

The aides care for me with their perfect hands. They rub my back and shave my chin. When they are done I thank them. Two words. That leaves me with thirty-eight.

"Thank you."

They both smile and tell me, "It's no problem, Mr. Darcy".

They use physics to lift and pivot my six-foot frame into the chair. I am surprised every day by this feat. They are small, but the physics never fails. My door remains open. I can see the flat brown carpet and the corner of a notice board. I hear moaning and the rattle of dishes. They dump the water and wipe down the side table. I watch as they rearrange my tissue box and newspaper. Read more...

Three Stories by Ian Seed

cup with man


Early each morning in the eternal city, I held a handkerchief knotted around sand and felt its weight in my palm. In this way, I wouldn’t forget where I’d come from. But then I’d drop it onto the pavement to remind myself I was free each morning to choose my life anew.

With my empty handkerchief back in my pocket, I would go to the café on the corner for a black coffee. Read more...

For the kiddos by Valerie Fox

cup with tree

Let us consider sex, humans, forks, knives. I can't sleep anyway, even at night. Let's slow down. Let's count the folds in the curtains, the light that isn't shining through. It's not dark enough.

Note my roots, my hard heart, my crack-pot father. He was an Elk.

Consider how I lost weight by paranormal means and made heaps of cash repeating how I did that, heaps of cash telling my story over the radio waves. Ever since I lost my job at the important hospital I have searched for a way to make my own money. I am making my own money now. Read more...

passing on double lines by JB Mulligan

cup with bird

The last person Hank expected to see drive past him on Main Street was himself. He looked out the car window, and blinked twice, and it was still him. It wasn't a look-alike, because Marcia was in the seat beside him as she was in this car, talking non-stop and with a breath every forty-five seconds or so, and the kids were arguing in the back of both cars. It wasn't possible, but that didn't seem to matter.

He recognized the car, too. It was the Green Pig, a big old sedan with an unfortunate tendency to squeal whenever he shifted gears. Read more...

About Our Coffee and Other Fare

Please Note: All of the coffee served at The Irreal Cafe is fair trade, organic, shade-grown and not real. All of the food served at The Irreal Cafe is organic, vegan, locally sourced and not real. See "At Our Cafe" for more about what we would serve at The Irreal Cafe and how we would serve it if there were an Irreal Cafe.