Larry was lighting up a fresh joint while sitting in his treehouse. He sighed a small cloud of smoke as he looked out the window of the rickety wooden shelter. It was a bit chilly, but not too cold. It was perfect to be outside. He turned his focus back inside the treehouse and glanced over at you laying down on the floor of the treehouse. He took another hit of the joint, wanting you to wake up, but not wanting to disturb you. He waited patiently.