Then she ate the entire tray in six minutes. No sensuality. No performance. Just raw, ugly, tear-streaked consumption. Chocolate smeared her chin. She burped. She apologized. Then she cried a little.

The teenager’s face fell. Then Chloe grinned.

“I don’t want to be double stuffed anymore,” she said. “I don’t want to be a dream. I just want to be a person who eats a normal cookie, alone, without filming it.”

“Kidding. It’s on the house.”