I binge when I'm happy. When everything is going really well

Host: The city below lay drenched in neon — a mosaic of lights, motion, and music that never quite slept. Through the glass of a tall apartment window, the rain traced slow lines down the pane, as if even the sky wanted to be part of the rhythm of that restless night.
Inside, the room pulsed faintly with the glow of a single lamp, its shade the color of amber whiskey. A half-eaten cake sat on the table, surrounded by empty glasses, wrinkled ribbons, and the confetti of a party long over.

Host: Jack sat at the window, his shirt undone at the collar, a glass of something dark in his hand, his reflection staring back at him with quiet cynicism. Jeeny was curled up on the couch, a slice of cake on her plate, her smile small but warm, like a candle flame trying to survive the draft. The air smelled faintly of frosting and melancholy.

Host: They had been silent for a while — that kind of silence that feels like a third presence in the room, heavy but familiar.

Jeeny: “Kirstie Alley once said, ‘I binge when I’m happy. When everything is going really well, every day is like I’m at a birthday party.’ I love that. It’s... honest, don’t you think?”

Jack: “Honest, maybe. But also a little sad, don’t you think? The idea that we can’t even handle happiness without overindulging — like joy itself scares us.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe we just want to hold onto it while it lasts. You can’t blame people for wanting more of what makes them feel alive.”

Host: Jack took a slow sip, the glass catching the light. His eyes, those cold, gray mirrors, flickered for a moment with something that wasn’t quite agreement, but wasn’t resistance either.

Jack: “You ever notice, Jeeny, that people binge not just on food — but on everything? Success, love, pleasure. They treat joy like it’s about to be confiscated. So they gorge themselves before it’s gone.”

Jeeny: “Because maybe they know it will be gone. Happiness isn’t permanent. So we celebrate it, consume it, before it fades. Isn’t that what birthdays are about? Not time passing — but the miracle that we made it through another year.”

Host: A rumble of distant thunder rolled through the city, soft but steady. The lights outside blinked against the rain, as if the world itself were caught in an endless birthday party — flickering, temporary, beautiful.

Jack: “You sound like you’re defending excess.”

Jeeny: “Maybe I am. Maybe excess is our way of saying thank you — of acknowledging we’re alive enough to feel full.”

Jack: “Until fullness turns to emptiness. Until the cake tastes like sugar and regret.”

Jeeny: “You always stop at the bitterness, Jack. You never stay long enough for the sweetness.”

Host: The rain picked up, turning the glass into a canvas of motion. Jack’s reflection blurred — two versions of him overlapping, one made of flesh, one made of light. He set his glass down, his jaw tightening, his voice lo