Outside a glowing red "Eat" sign beckons.

All along the prime three-block stretch of Main Street these days, windows are knocked out and signs beckon, "Space for Rent."

"Click Here to Be or Find a Friend," beckons a sign on the computer room door.

A large red-lettered sign beckons like an overeager party hostess: "Leather Sofas from $550."

Air-conditioning existed only in movie houses where signs with frosty lettering beckoned us with the promise that it was "20 degrees cooler inside."

On the Upper West Side, in Chelsea, in Battery Park and in Harlem their signs beckon and their fliers flap invitingly.

In almost any French Quarter street the signs beckon: "Shucked Fresh," reads one; "Oysters Here," reads another.

"Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers" signs do not exactly beckon travelers to Florence, but I highly recommend at least a swing through downtown.

Hand-painted "Mangoes 4 Sale" signs beckon along country roads, and the voluptuous fruit, along with litchis, bulge on trees, all the better to fuel the picnics and festivals of summertime Honolulu.

A two-story-high sign beckons: "Private self-service rooms"; three concepts that are music to the Manhattanite's ear.