The first Sunday of September, my friend Spencer and I pick up two bottles of chilled French rosé and head to Baker Beach in San Francisco’s Presidio. I laugh at Spencer for wearing swim trunks. It’s a rare day in San Francisco that gets warm enough to get in the water.
It turns out to be one of those days. By the time I pour my second glass, Spencer is in the water. Laying on the warm sand, a clear view of the Golden Gate Bridge, a glass of wine in hand… can it get any better?
It can. Into the water. Sans bathing suit.