In this Issue:
The Case of the Multiple Murders
Detective Inspector Ujlaky-Férfinský, a specialist
in simple assignments,
swings his walking staff back and forth and grumbles under his breath:
"A multiple murder,
one corpse in Kočiš's meadow
two corpses by the Geranium hut
three in the Pit of Shadows
I'm afraid to think what will happen in the Bone Houses
No, this is not for me."
A black blowe sits on a telegraph pole
and crows.
"A pokolba az egésszel,"*
answers the inspector. Read more...
Dead Enough
The squad of shooters aim their guns and begin shooting. They shoot shadows on the wall, empty windows, broken tail lamps. They shoot leaves twirling from the branches, nests where baby birds hide. They shoot voices and echoes, hostile camera flashes, the glint from hubcaps. They shoot steering wheels, passenger seats and glove compartments. They shoot the clouds bulking above them and the tent of the sky. They shoot young men, begging for mercy until they fall face down into the grass. "Are they dead?" one shooter asks. Another answers, "Let's be sure." They shoot the bodies until they twitch and jerk, and finally, lie still. Read more...
Foyer:
Take your shoes off. Get comfortable. The silverfish won't hurt you. Follow me.
Living Room:
Say hello to the man on the couch. He is life-sized but doesn't move or speak.
Stairs:
Don't go up those. Read more...
CRIMINALITY
Council passes an ordinance that every family must possess at least one unicorn. Quibble had thought unicorns were mythical, but Council must know what it is doing. Not wanting to invest much money, Quibble asks within his circle of neighbors where a used unicorn might be found. No one knows. After a few weeks, he admits he will have to spring for a new unicorn. But no one will tell him where new unicorns are sold. Read more...
"Nothing ever happens here, either in this street or in the whole village, and so I wonder: are all human lives as dull and empty as ours?" Jeff empties his pint in one gulp; it has taken him half an hour, that whole pint, best proof how boring life is, and in the meantime his hair and fingernails had grown fractions of a millimeter, which goes to prove that the entire universe still is in motion.
Bert, who is sitting on the other side of the small oak table, has already finished his own pint. It's almost midnight and Sylvia, behind the bar, isn't going to serve us anything anymore. She already said she's going to close up since we're the last three customers and she won't make much money on a few extra pints, and she wants to get herself to bed. Outside hardly any light is left, except for the stars. Further down, in the meadow, the cows float above the landscape. 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.