It might be best to try to explain the unmitigated glory of this place through the eyes of a child who is, say, two feet tall and relatively new to this world. And let's say this child has enough command of language to exclaim with reasonable articulation. This, then, is how that child would likely review his time at Wild Rumpus: "CHICKEN! KITTY! SPIDER! MOUSE!" And then, after exploring the place a bit: "LIZARD! BIRD!" Then, finally, that child would make mention of the books—nearly 20,000 of them. Parents, if you do not know this place already, you will not believe it. A chicken roams free. Cats with no tails, too. Sometimes a chinchilla in a hamster ball pilots itself into your feet. Doves call from cages. Rats crawl beneath a small section of glass flooring. There is a weekly story time, of course, every Monday—always packed and with dancing breaks between stories. And there is a book to stimulate every corner of a tiny brain: picture books for the early childhood study of Arabic, books about pooping in small toilets, books about pirates, books by Spike Lee or John Lithgow. Books about Charlie Parker or the origins of city names. And when it's all over, there's a tiny door leading to the sidewalk. A small child, having seen and heard and maybe even read some new things about this world, is empowered to step out into it. For God's sake, watch the traffic.