I THROW MY favorite hoodie on, fresh from the dryer, and start folding the rest of my clothes. Adam and Wade have a working washer and dryer, but I have been banished to the basement to do my laundry. I roll my eyes as I pull out another sock to find that it’s not the one I’m looking for. I toss it in the basket anyway, figuring I’ll find the other one at some point. I lug the basket up one flight of stairs so I can get to the elevator.
Wade’s condo is on the 3rd floor of a nice high-rise in between Mission Bay and Pacific Beach. A block to the east is the bay, with a grassy beach and sailboats lined up in their slips. A couple blocks to the west is the ocean. It’s in the perfect location for tourists, but I’ve noticed there are some full-time residents here as well.
When I get to the do
