Summer night in Williamstown

    A warm, hazy summer evening in Williamstown.  I roam the roads that wind around the village proper, windows down, camera on the passenger seat, inhaling the countryside.  It feels, not surprisingly, like Vermont, which is just up one of these roads.  As the light finally fades in the summer sky, I roll back in to The Orchards, have a cold pint of Berkshire Brewing Company IPA in the bar, before strolling across the lightly creaking boards of the lobby and the lounge to my room. The plain girl sitting behind the reception desk says "Have a good night" as she rubs lotion into her hands.  I wonder if she and the maids make use of the little bottles that the guests leave behind, the ones that have been opened.  I wonder if she wonders who will hold these soft, soft hands.