This rather stiff one is quite the attraction at the crossroads. At night, you may completely miss it. It is mute, it never moves or changes, yet wanderers consult it for guidance.

I'm the fourth airline.

In Spain, it's a breed of bull raised to fight bullfighters. In Japan, however, it's fatty tuna often eaten raw.

I hang over the city like a dirty gray shroud, I blur distant buildings beneath every cloud.

I spin but never travel, I hold the world but never leave my stand. What am I?