Fall is a beautiful time in Vermont. The trees are decorated in all their finest colors, hunters are stalking game in the woods, and the rustic fences and covered bridges create a wonderland for painters. Photographers make their living on the fall leaves in Vermont. I am one of them.
 I, a simple real estate agent, enjoy driving in the country, taking pictures, absorbing all the scenic wonders and looking for a good deal on the side. A realtor is a realtor, no matter where he goes. I thought I had seen everything, during my travels in the Northeast. I have seen sheep covered hillsides, snowy mountains, and foggy landscapes which resemble a foreign planet. I have seen stately elk, fish jumping through rapids, and even a bear not long ago fishing from the banks of Long Creek. But on this trip I knew I had seen it all. I pulled up in a little roadside park and saw a Gypsy wagon all nestled into a camping spot. The team of horses were picketed not far away. An old man stood over by the fire, and a beautiful black-haired woman stood with her hands on her hips, looking me over as I pulled in, driving my 20th century version of their wagon, a minivan.
 "That's a strange sight," I said pointing at their covered wagon with a smile as I pulled in to the adjoining sight. There were only three in the entire park. I noticed no tables, a single toilet, and no faucets for water.
 "Why?" the woman asked with a suspicious expression.
 "I... your..." I started to explain, but I trailed off under her stern gaze. Were these people for real? There were no Gypsies in this country. Where there?
 "Is there any water?" I asked, dying for some real campfire coffee.
 "That way," she pointed into the woods."
 "How far?"
 "About half a mile," she said, wiping her hands on her multicolored dress and turning away. I wanted to talk to her. She was very exotic, and not half bad looking, in an malevolent sort of way.
 "C... could you show me?" I asked with a hopeful smile. She cursed under her breath, shook her head sadly, then started off with her own bucket. I grabbed my plastic pail and ran to catch up.
 "It's beautiful here," I said, following a set of wheeltracks with her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. I saw her nipples harden before my very eyes and gasped.
 "What!" she demanded, with her eyes flying open.
 "You... you looked very beautiful," I said, turning red with embarassment.
 "Why do men always stammer and turn red when they lie?" she asked in disgust.
 "All right, damit, I was surprised when I saw your nipples harden. They are very... erotic in the thin material of that dress."
 "There, now wasn't that better than lying. It cleared the air and got you one step closer to what you really want."
 "Me," she said sternly.
 "What are you, a fortune teller?" I asked with a half smile.