Gluttony is an emotional escape, a sign something is eating us.

Host: The diner lights hummed with that tired yellow glow unique to places that never close. Outside, the city was half-asleep — streetlamps casting halos over the rain-slick pavement, steam curling from manhole covers like the breath of the city itself.

Inside, plates clattered faintly, forks scraped porcelain, and the smell of butter and nostalgia filled the air. It was 2:00 a.m. — the hour when honesty always tastes a little too strong.

Jack sat in a corner booth, a half-eaten slice of pie before him, the crust pushed aside, the filling gone. Across from him, Jeeny was stirring her coffee for too long, the cream forming soft spirals before dissolving — small storms of thought vanishing into silence.

Jeeny: reading softly from her phone, voice slow, reflective
“Peter De Vries once said, ‘Gluttony is an emotional escape, a sign something is eating us.’”

Jack: smirking faintly, glancing down at his empty plate
“Well… then I guess I’m halfway digested.”

Jeeny: smiling softly, but her eyes stay on him, searching
“Maybe that’s why people come to diners like this at 2 a.m. They’re not hungry for food — they’re hungry for quiet. For something warm when everything else feels cold.”

Host: The waitress passed by, dropping the check with a tired smile, her perfume carrying a faint sweetness of vanilla and resilience. A man at the counter ordered pancakes he didn’t seem to want, just to have someone ask him if he wanted more syrup.

Jack: stirring his coffee, his voice rough around the edges
“You know, it’s funny — people call gluttony a sin, but most of the time, it’s just sadness trying to disguise itself. You eat because it’s one of the few things in life that always shows up when you ask it to.”

Jeeny: quietly
“Or because it never says no.”

Jack: nodding slowly, his expression thoughtful
“Yeah. You can control the plate in front of you when everything else feels uncontrollable. The world falls apart, and you still get to choose between fries or mashed potatoes.”

Host: The rain began again, tapping lightly against the diner’s big front window. The neon sign outside flickered — EAT — the command glowing red, then dim, then red again.

Jeeny: softly, looking out the window
“It’s not just food though, is it? We all have our gluttonies. Some people binge on noise, on work, on other people. Anything to fill the space where peace should be.”

Jack: smiling faintly, with a tired honesty
“Yeah. Gluttony isn’t about appetite — it’s about ache. You’re not feeding hunger. You’re trying to quiet whatever’s gnawing inside.”

Jeeny: nodding, voice tender but steady
“That’s what De Vries meant, I think. When something’s eating you, you start eating everything else — to feel full, to feel in control, to feel something.”

Host: A truck rumbled past outside, its reflection sliding across the diner’s glass like a slow-moving thought. Inside, the clock ticked louder now — the sound of time chewing away at all unspoken things.

Jack: leaning back, looking up at the ceiling tiles
“You ever notice how people always eat differently when they’re lonely? The bites are slower. Or faster. But never normal. Food becomes… prayer, or punishment.”

Jeeny: softly, her voice almost breaking
“Yeah. You feed yourself because no one else is there to.”

Jack: glancing at her, a flicker of empathy in his eyes
“Been there?”

Jeeny: smiling faintly, shrugging
“Haven’t we all? It’s not just food for me. Sometimes I binge on hope. On promises that don’t come true. On trying to fix people who never asked to be saved.”

Jack: after a long pause, quietly
“And when that doesn’t work?”

Jeeny: sighing softly
“Then I start craving things I shouldn’t. Like certainty. Or numbness.”

Host: The coffee machine hissed behind the counter, the sound like a sigh from something ancient and overworked. The waitress laughed faintly at something the cook said, and for a moment, the diner felt like the last island of light in an ocean of darkness.

Jack: after a long silence
“You know, there’s a strange dignity in realizing you’re being eaten by something invisible — grief, guilt, whatever it is. Because once you see it, you can stop feeding it.”

Jeeny: quietly, her tone warm but sad
“Yeah. But the trick is learning how to starve the thing without starving yourself.”

Jack: smiling faintly, looking at her over his coffee
“Now that’s wisdom. Most people just switch addictions — they diet the symptom, not the cause.”

Jeeny: softly, almost whispering
“Because facing what’s really eating you means you might have to admit you can’t fix it.”

Jack: nodding slowly, his eyes softening
“And that maybe, you don’t have to. Maybe the point isn’t to fill the hole, but to sit with it. Let it breathe. Let it be hungry until it teaches you what it wants.”

Host: The rain stopped suddenly, the street outside still glistening. The neon sign’s reflection rippled faintly across the puddles, the word EAT glowing upside-down — like a message from the underbelly of the night.

Jeeny: smiling faintly, pushing her mug toward him
“You think we ever really stop using food — or anything — to escape?”

Jack: softly, thoughtful
“Maybe not. But we can learn to eat differently. To feed the soul, not the hole.”

Jeeny: grinning softly
“That should be on the menu.”

Jack: chuckling quietly
“Yeah. ‘The Existential Omelet: comes with a side of self-awareness.’”

Host: The two laughed quietly, the sound small but true, rippling against the hum of the diner lights. Outside, the city exhaled, the streets shining like veins of gold under the lamps.

And in that fragile hour before dawn, Peter De Vries’s words settled between them like an unspoken prayer:

That gluttony isn’t hunger — it’s heartbreak wearing a disguise.
That when something is eating us, it’s usually the part of ourselves we’ve refused to listen to.
And that healing begins the moment we stop feeding the ache, and start feeding the heart.

Jeeny: softly, looking out at the empty street
“Maybe the cure isn’t eating less. It’s feeling more.”

Jack: nodding, his voice quiet, sure
“Yeah. To taste life without trying to swallow it whole.”

Host: The first hint of dawn began to creep through the windows, soft and pale, washing the diner in new light.

The plates were empty now, but somehow, both of them felt full —
not of food, but of something gentler, quieter, real.

And as the world began to wake, the neon sign flickered one last time —
the word EAT turning briefly into AT EASE
— before going dark.