I came home to SLC last night to water our pathetic lawn (our landlord called and is not happy about it). My neighbor, Thomas, was out working on his car. We talked and talked and then he asked me if I'd seen the fliers about the guy who's been breaking in to houses on our block. Terror raced through my body because I already knew that no one else was home. Apparently, there's a 300 lb guy who just walks in to people's houses, and one girl woke up at night to find him crouching at the end of her bed watching her. She screamed for him to get out, and he slowly hefted his weight out of there. The police haven't been able to find him, but say that they couldn't really do anything anyway because he hasn't stolen anything or hurt anyone. I made Thomas walk through my house with me, my heart would race every time I got to a spot where a huge guy really could hide. Later, after reading about 80 pages before getting even kind of sleepy, I decided if I woke up in the night, I would force myself not to look at the end of my bed. I felt safe with all of my doors locked, but I still can't stop my brain from conjuring up sticky situations. Thomas laughed when I told him, "Yeah, maybe the guy hasn't done anything yet, but I will be the someone who has something happen." I wasn't trying to be funny.