Elvis considers his options

A bald, middle-aged, chain smoking man with a long, gray, ratty moustache has been stalking and terrorizing me (me, Elvis Costello circa 1994) for months, watching my every move and coercing me to steal things for him with threats and beatings. It has got to the point where every time I leave the house, day or night, I pretty much expect him to appear and beat the shit out of me. I think that he might be a well-known engineer at a recording studio a couple blocks from where I live, but I have no proof. Besides, I'm not at all confident that I could provide a description of the man good enough for someone to spot him before he finds me and kills me.

Right now I'm in the frozen foods section of the supermarket, mentally berating myself for not turning the tables on the man before it got this far. Knowing that it's only a matter of minutes before he finds me again, I fight my terror to crank the wheels in my brain and try to come up with a way to defend myself.

It occurs to me that I should be carrying a weapon. I made a feeble attempt to fight the man once or twice before, and it just ended with me being beaten especially badly. Still, I'm convinced that a well-chosen weapon used with maximum viciousness is my best chance at neutralizing him.

I'm in luck: someone has left a pair of scissors sitting in the freezer case. I pick them up and conceal them in my pocket, blades open, with a hand tightly wrapped around the handle.

I imagine how it will go down. I will lash out with the scissors as soon as my stalker is within range, and he will block with his arm, causing the blade to make contact on his wrist. At this point I can use my free hand to shut the blades on his wrist, bracing with all available leverage to try to sever his hand, or at least a major artery, causing blood to go everywhere.

Then I realize that it will appear to the witnesses in the store that I attacked a strange man without provocation, and then I'll be prosecuted for assault.

I imagine a different scenario. I make a quick jab at the man to surprise him, and while he's momentarily stunned I run away, calling out for help. The man then walks up behind me and slashes my throat with a straight razor.