Piccadilly Circus is London’s Times Square, only slightly less obnoxious. Here’s the big display, which is constantly moving and changing, although that Coca-Cola sign seems to dominate, with its own commercials and animations. The Brits love their traffic circles, which to me just means I’ll never (NEVAH!) drive there. It’s hard enough crossing the damn street in one. I love this center point in London (although last time I was there the Underground was impossible to get to from this station). It’s a short walk from here to just about everything (central London to me is actually very small, and you turn a corner and all the sudden you’re here or Covent Garden or Charing Cross Road). But I love the hustle and bustle of this particular spot and always have to stop and watch life go by.

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Central Park in New York City on a cool, breezy fall day, where the trees haven’t quite turned yet, but some are already gone, baby, gone. This is one of my favorite parts of the park, the Mall, a long expanse that you can walk or sit a spell and people-watch. It’s sides are festooned with artists (sometimes this term is used loosely) and the occasional street musician, which in NYC is usually pretty good. Central Park is this majestic place to me, this oasis in the middle of one of the world’s busiest cities, a place to treasure, even though I’m sure someone like Trump would love to carve it up into little real estate empires. I can’t imagine a NYC without Central Park, this crown jewel in the center of Manhattan.

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I love Seattle, too. I especially love this fountain which has a mind of its own. It’s located in Seattle Center, the home of the Space Needle (seen lurking above the fountain, above) and the 1962 Worlds Fair (or Century 21 Exposition, if you prefer, even if it sounds like a real estate company convention). Similar to San Diego’s Balboa Park (minus the world-famous zoo, though), Seattle Center has museums, galleries, large wooded areas to walk in, and more. It’s a lovely part of town, and I always love going there. I’m going back in July to see the big Marvel Comics exhibit at the museum now known as MoPOP … until they change the name again.

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I love Leeds. I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before, and I apologize for repeating myself. It has this rusty English charm to it, both old and new at the same time. A river runs through it … okay, a canal, and I am fascinated by this little water taxi that winds around, taking people to and fro. I’m going back again this fall, and plan to spend time in neighboring York, which I’ve never been to before. I follow some Brits on Instagram and the I love the photos I see. There’s something about these cities, so ancient and history-filled, that makes California (even with the palm trees and Pacific Ocean) pale in comparison. Leeds, London … I’m adding York, Hay-on-Wye (which I desperately want to call on Ham-on-Rye), and Brighton to my England folio this year. I can’t hardly wait.

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There’s nothing like an old, weathered sign. The Admiral Hotel is located in a … let’s say “less desirable” part of San Francisco, one I walk through occasionally to get to a bookstore over on Van Ness Avenue. It’s kind of a shortcut from where I normally stay. I’m pretty sure that this sign could tell some amazing stories, but as it stands–minus the comparatively shiny and new Coca-Cola sign–it looks like a seamy hotel that Sam Spade might live in, like all those film and fictional private dicks do. San Francisco is such a noirish city, even more so than New York, I think. The fog, the hilly streets, the Bay, with “The Rock” sitting forlorn and menacing in its center, the blemished but unchanged signs, like this one, all contribute to an overall feeling of damp, lurking danger. That dame walking towards you might have a gat in her garter; that lug leaning on the bar front across the street looks like trouble. Be careful. It’s dark and dangerous in this neighborhood.

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