Julie paused in the kitchen, her hand on the faucet.  The little apartment meant it was easy to hear one another even separated by the walls between the kitchen and bathroom.  She looked down at the coffee carafe in her hand and back up at the wall puzzled.<br/><br/>"My mother's mother and her sisters," She began.  "They always talk about how..." She affected a poor Romanian accent, "In the old country we could be open about being gypsies." She shook her head and dropped the accent.  "My mother's family are Romani.  Are you telling me all the stories they told me are<em>real</em>and not just fanciful tales to entertain and scare children?"<br/><br/>She quickly filled the pot with water and transfered it to the coffee maker which she turned on and left percolating.  She walked towards the bathroom.<br/><br/>"I know I inherited my grandmother's restless spirit.  Since I was seventeen and left home I've lived in the same place more than two years.  I chose photography as a career because I can take it with me anywhere and I love to travel."  She paused in the door of the bathroom and studied the large grumpy man.  "I'm a second generation American.  My mother's family came here when her mother was a teenager."<br/><br/>She stood with on hip cocked out and her head tipped to the side.  Her long chestnut hair fell over her shoulder and curled about her arm.  Her brown eyes studied him.