We swung by the Castro earlier this morning for an aftermath check-in. Surely, we thought, there must be evidence of some transgression or protest or ... well, something. We were most interested in the buildings, of course— Moby Dick's boarded-up facade, a relic of anticipation for the rowdiness that never came, made us feel especially dejected. Aside from banks upon banks of police barricades— most of which, we can attest, were not employed — only a few florescent-vested city workers and gleeful mayoral loser John Renaldi's guerilla toilet remain. Net "damage": 2 smashed pumpkins. Sadness.