I don’t like summers. I don’t like the heat, and I hate the noise that envelops New York. I’m a light sleeper, so nights make me particularly anxious; after I’m awakened I always have a very difficult time going back to sleep.

But this year it’s been different. The loud neighbor who for years made drunken calls to her friends on her terrace at 3 AM finally moved out, and the bar that every so often forgot that their patio is supposed to close at 10 PM has been surprisingly quiet–they didn’t even hold their traditional Fourth of July barbecue.

Instead, now we have the woman on the fire escape. New to the building across from us, she appears–sometimes in a swimsuit–to read or text. She starts as early as 6 AM and shows up intermittently throughout the day until the sun goes down.

She’s perfectly quiet, but it’s impossible to miss her. She’s visible from anywhere in the back of our house: our kitchen, our bedroom, and, most disconcerting of all, our bathroom (on the plus side, she’s close enough that I could ask her for toilet paper if I ever run out).

I’ve become self-conscious when I open the door to our backyard to call our cats back in. Like Adam and Eve after tasting the fruit of the tree of knowledge, I now feel the need to be fully clothed at all times.

What might be worse, I used to enjoy looking out the window and daydreaming, but ever since fire escape woman showed up, it makes me feel like I’m leering. I’m starting to spend more time looking out the windows to the front of the house.