Steven Helmer Publications

James took a seat at his desk, calmly leaning back in his chair as though it was just a normal, ordinary night and there wasn’t a man standing near the door of his den holding a .38-caliber revolver. “Take a seat, Mr…” James started to say. “Watson,” the armed man responded. “Matt Watson.” “Please make yourself comfortable, Mr. Watson,” James said. “Can I call you Matt?” Matt nodded and walked over to a worn couch on the far wall. Pushing up the glasses he wore on his thin, unshaven face, he scanned the room cautiously. “There aren’t any weapons, if that’s what you’re worried about,” James told him. “And as luck would have it, I left my phone in the kitchen.” James could see Matt studying him, trying to read his tone of voice and facial expressions. “I have no reason to lie to you, Matt,” James said. “I am willing to cooperate fully and get out of here alive. You just need to tell me what you want. I should tell you, however, I don’t have a lot of money in the house or really anything ...

  Image courtesy of Alexas_Fotos via Pixabay The grocery store three blocks from my house had been family owned since at least a decade before I was born. That recently changed, however, after the original owner retired and his son decided to sell a couple years later due to health issues. Now, the store is owned by some corporation out of California. Sure, they claim nothing has changed other than the name but there are plenty of not-so-subtle differences whenever I stop there on the way home from work. The produce department, for example, is smaller with less of a selection. Meanwhile, my pizza rolls are in the freezer that used to contain chicken nuggets, and the chicken nuggets seem to be relocated once per week. The most noticeable difference though is at the front of the store, where even during the busiest times of the day (like when I shop), there is usually just one cashier working. I don’t know if it is by choice, as a way of cutting costs in these uncertain economic ...