I go upstairs in our house to look for something in daughter Katie's room. She sleeps in a small bed similar to one she had as a little girl. In another bed, lying on top and fully clothed with head propped on a pillow and sleeping, is a hippie type of about 25, with reddish blond hair, large and fuzzy. I close her closet door and it squeaks. She awakens and smiles at me and I tell her that breakfast is ready, but with a glance at hippie, whisper that there is not much to eat.