The rent's beyond too damn high, your roommate won't shut up about his worthless-yet-about-to-be-sold app, and you're this close to driving for Uber, not riding in one. Face it: Being a San Franciscan in 2016 has many pitfalls. There are no shortages of reasons for asking if it's not past time to become an expatriate. A romantic notion, sure, one you can only feed as you settle into a sofa with a glass of wine, with candlelight bouncing off of the exposed brick wall behind you. "What might it be like to live in Paris?" you ask yourself. Would you share banter and jokes with wine experts in a little cave of a wine bar, tucked away in an alley, over a slab of wood big enough for four or five stools? Would you find a table in a dark corner and steal a glance at the couple lost in each other's eyes, as you asked for what pour of Provence would pair best with your charcuterie plate? Maybe that's when you realize true escape is just a glass or two away.