In New Mexico I see pickups every day. We have two in our back yard, and I occasionally nag and hint that Keith should buy a newer one, a good one—one with music and air conditioning. Windshield wipers. Seat belts.
In six weeks, I saw one pickup truck in Scotland and one in France. This was the third one, and it was in Bristol. It identifies itself.
When I was walking away from the estate, just before the gate I saw where the rangers' office was, in a nice little group of buildings.
Beautiful window between two garage doors (or once carriage or stable doors, perhaps); bench; planters; oil barrel; cones: