The building structure has been creaking for a good three weeks now. And there’s no question we’ve made matters worse since the apartment is no easier to heat than it was before our little renovation.

Two years later I inherited what was left in the tube of foam insulation when my friends moved out.

That infernal summer gave up the ghost early. The moment the heat wave relented, the days started getting shorter. The leaves changed colours, and I got back to my business. Long walks. Exploring.

I take a methodical approach: cover the entire area one street at a time, parallel arteries first, followed by perpendicular. I walk. I observe people and buildings. Note who has dogs or cats, which houses appear to be vacant, and which ones are full of people. I observe this ritual for weeks on end then move on to the next neighbourhood. I become a familiar figure, blend into the landscape. People grow accustomed to my presence. I become invisible. The street people start saying hi, and I smile back.

Invisibility is an art, a science, a way of life. There’s nothing magical about what I do. It’s basic psychology: know your environment. No one notices the people they see every day. Ordinary things don’t make it through our mental filter. You also have to strike the perfect balance between pretty and ugly. People are fascinated by either end of the spectrum, which triggers a red light in their minds. I don’t want to leave a scar in anyone’s memory. I keep my eyes cast down. I don’t go around dishing out smiles. I put on a gloomy face, walk calmly, tailor every movement to blend in to my surroundings. Beauty, like ugliness, attracts attention; it is therefore to be avoided at all costs.

For these outings, I dress unremarkably and style my hair just like every other woman my age. I steer clear of makeup. I wash with the mildest of soaps, free of perfume and friendly to both sensitive scalps and innocent bunnies. Products that won’t give me cancer, certified by dermatologists the world over, approved by the most demanding of women. I choose a dish soap for people who are allergic to everything, those poor hypersensitive souls who faint if they walk too close to a dryer grate. I tell people that I, too, have sensitive skin. Who doesn’t have sensitive skin these days? It’s all the rage.

The best way to be invisible is to make sure no one notices you. People walk right by me on the sidewalk. I pass them on my bike; I jog right by. And on every one of these excursions, there’s nothing about me that’s interesting in the least.