In the book, King notes this sculpture has caused more public uproar than any other. In fact, when it was new, architectural critic Allan Temko likened it to the waste of "a concrete dog with square intestines." King says that a structure this overwrought might be designed to distract attention from something even larger — and in this case, that something is the long-gone Embarcadero Freeway (which was demolished after the Loma Prieta earthquake in 1989).

King looks at this lone Victorian (sandwiched between a paint store and a gas station) as a marker of the city's past. Back in 1900, when this resplendent home was built by brewer Peter Windler, it was one of many Painted Ladies that lined the block. Fifty of those homes survived the 1906 earthquake; but only one, this one, survived the forces of development after the area was rezoned for commercial use in the 1930s.

In his book, King says this building is a reminder that booms and busts are nothing new in San Francisco. When the lower, unornamented part of this apartment building was constructed atop Nob Hill, it was a staid affair. Five years later, in order to cash in on good economic times, developers added the top three floors with an elaborate, some would say ostentatious, facade. "When there’s a boom, developers will try to capitalize on it — in this case by adding several floors to a building that already existed," says King. "But the joke was on them, because the gaudy top floors opened just as Wall Street crashed."

Bernard Maybeck's Palace of Fine Arts is the lone survivor of this city's 1915 Panama Pacific International Exposition—a World's Fair that celebrated the rebirth of the city after the 1906 quake. Maybeck designed it with a melancholy theme: It represents the point when sadness turns to contentment. Back then, it was a papier-mâché cover for a wooden stage. In 1967 is was redone in concrete and updated further in 2011. King writes: "What endures is the aura of an immense and otherworldly realm."

This cathedral sited on the far reaches of Geary is graced with five golden onion domes. It distinguishes the area as a long-time enclave of Russian immigrants. King says that, when viewing it, "You realize that every district of a city has veins of diversity that run deep."

Look at the sign on Marquard's and you almost feel like you are seeing into the past, to a time when newsstands populated many street corners. That's what this place was—a place that sold newspapers, magazines, and (obviously) cigars and cigarettes. In 2005, it was replaced by a company that sells baseball caps, but city planners said the marquee should stay, as witness to "signage of a bygone era." King says: "We all love physical relics and remnants of past times. But when the neon newsstand sign glows above a franchised baseball cap shop, is this preservation — or civic self-delusion?"

King says that if you see a building that's much taller than those around it, it is likely because neighbors pitched a fit when it went went up. That's the case with this seven-story apartment building on Telegraph Hill. A member of the Ghirardelli family had it built, and many in the neighborhood were so incensed they, as King says, made sure there was no sequel. He points out that the disgruntled neighbors may have won the building code battle, but the residents in 290 Lombard are the ultimate victors: They needn't worry that another tall building will block their views.

The now-demolished Embarcadero Freeway used to hide this utilitarian PG&E transformer station. But when the roadway went down and condo and apartment towers started to rise, it came into full view. King writes that the substation tells of a time when downtown SF was a place to work, not live.