I woke up having no idea where I was. It's a familiar feeling. If I did know where I was. . .then I think I'd be worried.
P.J.'s life is simple. Wake up at 2:00 p.m. In someone else's place, on someone else's couch. Shower. Clothes. Club. P.J.'s a punter--someone who fills in if a Didn't able to make a gig. San Francisco is a hotbed of glam bands and alternative rock, and P.J.'s into all of it--she's been living the urban Bedouin lifestyle for almost a year now, saving money to create the blow-out, off-the-hook demo of the music she loves, the music for which she deliberately abandoned "normal."
Ever wondered what it would be like to pack it all in and live the carefree life--no 9 to 5, no daily grind, no routine, no one to check in with? P.J. knows how it's done. The most important element? Lots of friends, with couches. One night it's Cecil's high-end settee, the next it's Sticky's lumpy sofa. P.J.'s even got smarmy Samantha to make sure there's always a hideaway bed from hell in the wings. But when a reporter infiltrates her life, then acts as if she wants to make it her own, P.J. senses real trouble. Could this spell the end of couch world?