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San Francisco has only two: pleasant and foggy. Trees keep their leaves year-round, and temperatures are consistently in the sweater range. It’s a city of eternal mild weather.

This past December I went back to Toronto when winter was in full force. My phone told me it was -30°C. The downtown core was like a wind tunnel, blasting my face with high-speed frigid air. Why does anyone put up with this? I thought. But here I am, five months later, sitting in the California sun, longing for some crappier weather.