If a sketch artist interviewed every room of your life, the drawing that came back would resemble everyone's description a little — and belong to no one. The week's four threads, pulled together. There's a long table at the end.

There's the one for your boss' jokes, the one for clients, the one for old friends — and the fourth one, which ambushed you last month, and which you apologized for. On who shows up when no one's watching.

You know your brother-in-law's steak order, your mother's side of the plane, and exactly who can't do onions. But what about you? Do you even know what you want for dinner? This one is about the strange thing that happened to your order.

Somewhere today, a performance review is starting with the words "as your friend." On what people actually came to you for — and what they get when being liked feels more urgent than being that.

No one has ever offered you a briefcase full of money to abandon your principles. It turns out convictions aren't bought in bulk — they're collected in installments, on hills you decided not to die on.

The first thing life ever did was draw a line. Before it ate, before it moved — an edge, and then everything else. The Friday episode pulls the week together with some help from a membrane, a poem about a wall, and one question worth taking into the weekend.

There's a thing you didn't say in March. You've said it in the shower, in the car, to other people — everywhere except the one place it would count. On what the unsaid conversation is actually costing, and a butler who kept the peace for thirty years.

There used to be a plastic box whose whole job was to tell the world you weren't home — and the world accepted it. On the meeting nobody held where you agreed to be reachable forever.

You were fine at nine o'clock. Then a ten-minute conversation, and you carried someone else's dread all day — while they left feeling great. On the difference between feeling with people and feeling instead of them.

There is, somewhere on your calendar right now, a thing you agreed to in a hallway. You remember the hallway. You don't entirely remember agreeing. Season 4 opens with the reflex that's been spending your weeks without you.