Write about: the dysfunctional family.
Kat and I (and Max too, I guess) have recently discovered Raising Hope on Netflix. Holy mercy, so funny. Check it out if you haven't done so already.
The house is silent, which can mean only one thing: not a soul is within.
If the father was home the TV would be on, or the stereo, or possibly both at the same time. He likes to drown out the constant tumult in his life with noises he could cheer on, or at least dance to. Not that he favored any particular team, or danced very well.
If the mother was home she would be on the phone. With her own mother, with girlfriends, with men she should not have been on the phone with. Another sure sign of her presence? The haze of cigarette smoke that obscures the interior of the home from curious onlookers across the street.
If the girl was home... well, that's such a rare occasion that we shall waste no time on it.
And the boy? Nearing his teens and not yet potty trained, surely he would be whining about something. The lack of ice cream in the freezer, most likely. Or, to be more precise, the lack of the right kind of ice cream in the freezer.
No, if there is even a hint of calm and peace around this house, it is due solely to abandonment. That is, assuming the dog hasn't finally snapped and killed them all.