You are living with your grandparents at the age of twenty because you have been kicked out of a recovery home for women alcoholics. Unable to shake your old habits of defiance, you stayed out all night (curfew was 9 P.M.) with a member of the opposite sex, albeit a sober one, riding a big motorcycle he called his “hog,” the wind whistling past your ears as he drove you helmetless through the dark hills of Laguna Canyon. At sunrise you climbed through your bedroom window at the recovery home and found a note waiting on your untouched pillow: “This was your final warning. Pack today.”