More on Drunks From Across The Street
In 1978, air-conditioning was for county people. We were lucky we owned a fan. We slept with the windows wide open, and we rarely locked our doors. We had nothing worth stealing, and glass was too expensive to replace should someone really want to break in.
Once in a while, a drunk would forget where he lived and come walking into our house instead. One night I woke to the sound of a key in our lock.
Remember how I said we didn't lock our doors? Yeah.

Eventually Mr. three-sheets-to-the-wind tried the doorknob, and came face to face with a ten year old girl holding a shotgun almost as big as herself.
Geez, I was scared. It never occured to me to wake a grown-up. I was out of bed and to the gun before I had a chance to decide if I would pull the trigger. I did decide to shoot him, but when I saw it was just a drunk, I changed my mind. He could live if he went away. I told him he was in the wrong house. He asked me what I was doing in his house? I told him again that he had the wrong house, and he stood there with his hand on the doorknob, trying to think how to have this "pink elephant" of a girl disappear from "his" house. I then told him I would shoot him if he didn't leave. His reply? "I'm sorry, I must have the wrong house."
When he left, I locked the door behind him.
When I woke Mom and told her what had happened, she showed me where Tom kept the shotgun shells. The gun wasn't even loaded!