Cars were lining up outside as far as the eye could see, a stadium sized filled parking lot, and from a bird's eye view it looked like a mechanical orchestration of horses on four wheels all packed within a sardine can, seemingly beyond full and about to burst. The hospital itself had turrets on every corner and stood up like a modern day castle from the middle ages minus the drawbridge. A cornucopia of traffic lights strategically placed amidst a thoroughfare that wrapped around it. The hustle and bustle of vehicle dialogue, a maelstrom of sounds echoing off of one another. An intersecting crossword puzzle of intertwining wave lengths, colorful voices, various frequencies, and dubious vibrations, all bouncing off the antennas of listening ear drums drenched in conversation. Soldiers on stretchers piling out of military helicopters landing on the rooftop of the hospital, ravens swarming above in circles, salivating over the wounded. Fighter jets shooting back and forth at each other in the sky, one blows up like a fireworks stand in mid air, another, off in the distance, explodes into the side of a mountain. Two parachutes pop open like umbrellas now descending. Traffic around the hospital was bumper to bumper. Kids had lemonade stands set up in random locations. The moving lips and talking faces of people filing in and out of the hospital doors, car doors, ambulance doors, sirens, car horns honking, a car-jacking taking place over here, an accident report taking place over there. An ambulance fully dressed with lights dancing shows up at the emergency room drive-up, they pull out a man soaked in blood and groaning on a stretcher. "This man has lost a lot of blood!" "What happened?" "He was attacked by a clown!" Little girls in bridesmaid dresses are handing out flowers. A clown in hand-cuffs escapes from the back door of a police car and a chase ensues. The hustle and bustle of hospital uniforms coming in and going out, an anthropological cathedral of human activity. From a satellite in orbit, or a U.F.O. looking through a microscope from outer space it appears as if one of God's Angels had stepped upon a human ant hill and the ants were pouring out. A car knocks a pedestrian over In the middle of a crosswalk. A bird defecates on a surgeon in scrubs. Eyeballs humming along and gallivanting about, glancing and staring at one another. Nodding heads, handshakes, hugs, laughter, sobbing pupils and celebrations. A newspaper kid with four arms right outside of the main entrance of the hospital handing out newspapers and announcing with a bullhorn voice, "This just in!" "Read all about it!" "Just in time!" Another newspaper kid riding by on a bicycle, tosses a rolled up newspaper into the air and smacks the four armed kid right on the face. And on the fifth floor of the hospital in a delivery room the soon to be Indigo Blue is about to be born. His Mother, Abigail, in labor, is a full blooded Eastern Australian blue/grey furred Kangaroo, and his Father, Abraham, is a full blooded American male human. He is standing next to the hospital bed holding Abigail's hand, or, more accurately said, her fore limb. The Doctor sees a hand poking out and says, "I just need you to push a little harder, we are almost there!" Abraham, right before he kisses Abigail on her forehead, says to her in a soft voice, "You can do this, I love you." Indigo Blue emerges from her vagina into the Doctor's hands appearing fully human physically, and immediately the new born baby boy crawls up his Mother's body and enters into her pouch after the Doctor snips the  umbilical cord. The Doctor makes sure that Indigo Blue successfully attaches himself to one of Abigail's four years and when he does the Doctor celebrates with a smile, "Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Blue, you have a perfectly healthy, brand new baby boy!" Abraham and Abigail smile at each other and share a kiss as they embrace. The Birth Certifcate reads: Kangaroo Hospital, Kenosha, Wisconsin, Indigo Blue, Friday, Feburary 25th, 1976, at 7:37 a.m. Length, 2 cm, Weight, .99 grams.