Warm, sunny days are so rare in San Francisco that at the slightest hint of elevated temperatures a swarm of sunbathers — mostly male, mostly hunky — descends on the upper slopes of Dolores Park. As the smell of coconut oil wafts through the air, chiseled gay men in teeny, tiny bikinis rotate on their colorful towels like chickens on a spit. Dogs roam freely, searching from group to group for treats. Ice cream vendors push white carts labeled “helados La Michoacana” (when was the last time you had a Neapolitan ice cream sandwich?). Melanoma be damned: Forgo the tanning booth and come here to ogle or be ogled.