I was about 22, living in a ground floor apartment that was tucked into an odd corner area. This night, I was lying on my bed, listening to a song, when I heard a rustle outside my bedroom window. I looked up and between the crack in the curtains saw a man’s face staring in at me. I set a speed record racing for phone to call 911. Fortunately, there were police patrolling an alley about two blocks away and they arrived within a minute, no lights or sirens. Just as the 911 dispatcher said they were on their way, I heard one of the cops yell, “COME OUT OF THE SHRUBS.” About 20 minutes later, the police rang my bell to tell me the neighbor’s screen, maybe a whole 10 feet from mine, had been cut from the window. The dude was a carnie who’d driven across town from the state fair, and brought a bag filled with break-in tools. He told the police he’d stashed it in the bushes and was just retrieving it. Even though he was arrested, I was still shaking, so I taped aluminum foil all over my bedroom window with only about a 4-inch gap at the top for some sunlight. I still hate looking out a window at night.