Somewhat unrelated but there's something about the defeated, living-in-the-glory-days suburban parents I've met that leaves me shook
You woke up at noon. You came downstairs in a stained shirt with holes from college, a memento of the last time you were happy; when you rushed with so much promise but never got let into the frat. You grab a six pack — the only one that actually had all six left in it — in front of your wife, child, and their friends. They recognize you but don't respect you. Then you go back up the stairs of a house that's only yours until another recession hits. You put on Gran Torino again because Clint Eastwood is old like you but has excitement in his life that you never will.
Stephen King needs to make that life-prospect a monster because holy shit that's terrifying