VI. Dopamine.

The little martian appears visibly distressed as he sees me take another bite.

“You’re not supposed to chomp” he huffs.

“It's chocolate! you aren’t even tasting it”

“It's like dopamine in a bar” I bite back. Biting words and cocoa. I feel so very witty!

“It's supposed to be a slow-release.” he insists

“You chomp at it urging it to make you happy. Forcing yourself to feel joyous. Each munch an impatient expectation of comfort”

The little martian is waving his little green hands around now. He is looking rather ridiculous. I tell him and he rolls his eyes.

“You're never going to find it like this.” He says, calmer now. His voice is a soft murmur, an echo of his previous discourse.

“Find what?” I relent, scrunching up the last bit of dry wrapper.

But my little martian is fast asleep now, his skittish hands cushioning his curious face.