You exit your room into the INTERSECTION, to the left is the balcony, the right leads downstairs, and ahead leads to the HALLWAY.
You take a peek.
The bathroom and your father's room are here.
You proceed to the right of the intersection.
On the wall hangs a picture of a fella who sure knows how to have a laugh, a man after your own heart. You always thought he looked a lot like Michael Cera. But your DAD swears on the many HALLOWED TOMBS of Egypt that it is not. You're not sure about that though.
> John: Quit goofing around! Go downstairs already!
You go downstairs.
The accursed odor of fresh baking wafts into your newfound nostrils. Something is brewing in the KITCHEN. It must be the connivings of your arch nemesis, BETTY CROCKER, and the rich, buttery aroma of her plot stinks to high heaven.
>Go outside, check for mail, discover your dad got to it first, look in car and discover there's a package in there you won't receive until it's wreaked havoc on something incredibly important and causes tons of trouble because you couldn't freaking go get the mail. We all already know that's what happens.
One last final hurrah, like the final defiant scream of a dying man.