Eric Beeny


Eric Beeny’s work has recently or will soon appear in 3:AM, Abjective, elimae, LITnIMAGE, Matchbook, Pear Noir!, Spilt Milk, Willows Wept Review, and others. His small novel, The Dying Bloom, was published as an e-book by Pangur Ban Party. He’s a contributing editor for Gold Wake Press. His blog is Dead End on Progressive Ave.(


Forwarding Address (October 20, 2009. Issue 10.)

Alfonso’s mechanic didn’t like it when people hung around the shop waiting for him to fix their cars, however cold it was outside.

Where Alfonso was now, he only got one phone call.

On the other end of that call, Gina said, “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me.”

Gina heard yelling in the background.

“Where are you?”

“A pay phone.”

“What’s all that yelling?”

“I took the car in for the third time and Mortimer kicked me out, so I had to walk the seven miles home.”

“Why didn’t you call a cab?”

“I didn’t have any money, except enough for a coffee. Then I got home and realized I left the house key on the ring with the car keys. I had snot running out my nose, my coffee was cold and I had to pee real bad.”

“So where are you?”

Alfonso didn’t hear Gina over all the yelling.

“So I peed out in the backyard, and I think the lady who runs the day care next door saw me out her window.”

Gina was getting worried.

“What’s all that yelling?”

“I was going to ask to use her phone, but when I saw her seeing me peeing...”


“I knocked on Carlton’s door but of course he wasn’t home — he just got a job driving a bus, or something. His dog started barking, so I sat on our porch for an hour thinking about what to do.”

An officer, Officer Quota, was waiting behind Alfonso, turning his head side to side, watching detainees wrestling other officers.

He wasn’t doing anything else because he had Alfonso to do.

Officer Quota tapped Alfonso on the shoulder.

“Wait. You peed in the yard?” Gina said.

“I checked the mail, and we got Carlton’s. I looked through his window and saw his dog lying down in a corner. I needed to use a phone, so I tried opening his window but it was locked, so I tried all the other windows and I ended up having to break one. I was just going to drop off his mail and use the phone...”

Officer Quota took Alfonso’s elbow.

It was wrapped in a bandage.

Gina sounded pretty concerned when the yelling stopped and all that was left was a dial tone after the line went dead.

“Where are you? Hello?”

Officer Quota led Alfonso down the hall to a holding cell.

The Histogram City PD pulled up as Alfonso was putting his elbow through Carlton’s window.

The cops got out of their cars, drew their guns.

They yelled up to him on the porch.

“Step away from the window,” all the officers said at some point or another during their careers.

“You don’t understand,” Alfonso said, laughing a little.

They slowly climbed the steps, guns drawn, pulling out their handcuffs.

“You trying to get in that house?” one officer said.

“Actually, I’m trying to get in that house,” Alfonso said, pointing next door.

Carlton’s dog jumped through the window, clamping his jaws like a stapler around Alfonso’s arm, hanging there, Alfonso screaming, shaking his arm, the cops unsure where to aim their guns.