Niall Foley

I think it's fair to say the guys do nurture writers, and they do nurture talent, and they nurture that relationship.

You can, yeah.

This was in the Between the Leaves edition as well, and it's called The Day O'Callaghan's Died.

I remember well the day across the telephone my father broke the news O'Callaghan's had died.

No longer could we choose to sup our favoured booze in that quiet place among McGaherne's polite ghost and silent men, rebels in heart.

A nod from Carmel, a how are the men, a soft eh,

and be left alone then, tick tock of clock, hiss of pipes, maybe bacon fries.

The only bell ever rang announcing customers, canned peas and sweetcakes out front.

I remember well the day, my father and me, in O'Callaghan's, no more.