The hour of my birth approaches: the color scheme in this place makes me bilious. Today it's my birthday. The faces of my mother and my father suddenly become clear on the photograph. Now I know who to look for, I rush through the hospital corridors to find them. Then I hear a scream. A man has just jumped under the wheels of a truck outside. Then I hear "He just couldn't deal with the fact that his wife was dead. You know room 11?"