For artists in S.F., life often revolves around a perpetual search for affordable housing. We cram into closets, turn kitchens into living rooms, and fudge the numbers of our “self-employment income” on rental applications, just to maintain our presence inside the borders of San Francisco. In all my time here I've only seen rents drop once, and that was during the first two years of the Great Recession. At the time, I was living in a bedbug-infested roach motel in the Mission District with four Guatemalan construction workers that wouldn't let me watch the TV, or use the living room. I saw my chance and jumped ship for greener pastures — and now I have a pretty sweet deal. A sweet deal which almost opened up, when one of my roommates threatened to move.