Have San Franciscans lost touch with the earth, the soil, the roots of our agrarian past? I ask because three whole days after Brock Keeling at
SFist.com alerted the city to the dozens of bright, orange, stuffed fabric penises hanging from a tree in the Panhandle where Fell meets Cole, the mysterious phalluses were still unplucked today.
Don't people realize it's the beginning of autumn, the harvest season? Does the city suffer such a glut of penises that locals are happy to let these orange specimens rot on the branch?
Earlier this week, the Panhandle's greatest mystery was: Who hung these penises here? And why? By Thursday, a greater mystery emerged: How could it be that nobody had yet picked them?
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