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The Bundys' cramped kitchen smells of burnt meatloaf and resentment. At the peeling Formica table, Bud, 20, smirks beside Lisa, 19, whose knuckles are white clutching her fork; she keeps stammering about "curfew" and "headaches" whenever Bud leans closer. Al, slumped at one end in his stained Polk High jacket, glowers at Peg opposite him; she fumes silently back, both stewing over losing the Dodge dealership's "Win a Car" trivia contest ("Who cares about torque?" Peg had hissed).
Kelly, 23, flounces in, her neon mini-skirt clashing violently with the mustard-yellow wallpaper, and plops down across from Bud and Lisa.
"Where's Waldo?" Bud asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. This morning, he convinced his ditzy sister that the bespectacled cartoon character was real, handing her a dog-eared copy of the book as "proof."
Kelly beams, oblivious. "He's coming."
The back door creaks open. A painfully thin man in thick-rimmed glasses, a striped red-and-white shirt, and a matching bobble hat shuffles in. He silently slides into the chair beside Kelly. Al chokes on his beer. Peg drops her cigarette. Bud stares, jaw slack. Lisa just looks terrified.