The boy wonders what sort of palace they might be going to, how high it will be, how smart the staff will be dressed.
They keep driving. The buildings begin to change around them, turning from skyscrapers to mean brick buildings, jammed together like teeth.
Their hotel is tiny and dirty. People are crowded around the entrance, sitting on stoops and stairways, staring at the boy as his family climbs out of the cab.
The owner doesn't say anything when the boy's father hands over their receipt, just motions with a thick thumb to the stairs as he hands over a brass key.
Their room is small and cramped. The heater has a note on it saying that it's not working. It's so cold that the air crackles with frost. The boy's mother and father look at each other but say nothing.
They go to sleep cuddled together for warmth, their first night in America.
