After navigating the Canadian immigration officials, Frank headed straight to the train station and bought a ticket to Windsor. He settled in his seat, choosing one across from an elderly woman who was already nodding off. He looked out the window at a thriving city, larger than any he had ever seen, with wires held high on wooden poles that ran the length of the street, which puzzled him. He shook his head slightly and reached into his pocket to pull out the last letter he had received from his mother. Re-reading it, he wondered how he would find Clark Park. He folded it and put it back into his pocket. As he looked out the window at the passing scenery – nothing but fields and forests, all uncultivated – he was amazed that it was the same for hours on end.
The train eventually stopped in Toronto, where several people disembarked and a few got on. Frank was astonished at how different the city looked from those in the old country. The buildings were taller, many simply huge cubes with windows. These were nothing like those back home. There was also much more hustle and bustle. Frank was enthralled.
He gathered his belongings and hopped off the train in Windsor. There he followed the remainder of the passengers into the large terminal and headed up to a clerk manning a window.
“Excuse me…can you tell me how to get to Detroit?”
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