"Unconditional Belief in Heat," by Anna Journey

I would've stabbed the man's hand had he not jerked it away--this is what I usually say toward the end of the story. I've told for almost twenty years, I'm a junior in college towelling my wet hair as I walk from my bathroom through the hall, headed to my bedroom, at two in the morning. I see you, motherfucker, and the hand jerks back. When I call 911 and reach, incredibly, a busy signal, I phone Ed instead, who will drive over, remove his old A.C. unit, take it to his new place. I would've stabbed the hand that tried to steal my A.C.