Issue #56

Fall 2015 | November 1, 2015

In this Issue:

The Bus Depot by Pooja Makker


The bus depot is caught up in the relentless mid-week chaos; people, like ants, line up in various queues with their bags and suitcases, purposefully heading in and out of the great big middle. Read more...

The Boy across the Street by Eric G. Wilson


All the boy wanted to do was play. He had asked his mother that morning, a very bright morning, if he could play ball in his front yard. He would be very good, he said. He would promise not to kick the ball into the road. Read more...

Swirl by Tariq al Haydar


My wife opened her eyes. I tried not to look at the tubes coming out of her nose and said, “You’ve always had a beautiful smile.”

She closed her eyes and whispered, “I’m exhausted, Paul.”

I wondered if I would encounter her again, out in the world, in another body, and laughed when I imagined an alternate version of her failing to recognize me. Read more...

Breakthrough by Cheryl Pallant


Yet again I awake before the sun shows on the horizon. A full bladder compels me to rise from the comfort of bed and sacrifice an easy return to sleep. I have lain awake before, constant twists and turns seeking the position to foster a night’s rest. I prefer to not think about how often my hip or shoulder adjusted just this way or that yet failed to settle me into the cushion of the mattress. Read more...

Memories of Sanlorenzo by Patrick Cosgrove


Artemis drove his blue Fandango through the streets of Sanlorenzo. A river appeared briefly, a river in the sky, and he forgot what he was about to say to the beautiful young woman seated beside him. This is a moment that will stay with me always, he said to himself, my moment of forgetfulness on the streets of Sanlorenzo at the wheel of my blue Fandango, sitting next to a beautiful young woman whose name I also cannot remember. Read more...

No Sequels, Please and The Chief Deacon's Report on the Rumored Return of the Broken Boys by Bob Thurber


No Sequels, Please

First we meet the writer, who, being blind, starts with an apology, because how else? Even a distracted, indifferent reader can detect when an author, sightless or not, is posturing for position, merely flexing his syntactical muscles to attract attention. Genuine literary sincerity is in such short supply these days, on and off the page. 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.