What is it like to be a leafhopper?: a speculative essay

Imagine that you live on a tower of pipes so tall it extends beyond view.

Imagine that it is filled with juice, and that you are thirsty; you bite into its soft side, and it takes a while before you can get at the juice, but you do manage.

And it tastes good. It tastes so good. You never want to stop. You drink for hours and time speeds up and the outside world fades away. You don't even notice you are asleep by the time the sun has set, and the next day you hardly realize you are awake.

You are rudely returned to full consciousness by a dry sensation in your mouth. Evidently your tower only has so much juice to give. How? You were only there for a few moments (you had not moved from the spot in two weeks) it was hardly enough (it was more enough than you could ever remember) you do not feel well-rested at all (you were designed to never know peace).

Fortunately, there is another pipetower to the north, and the journey there is not too arduous. When you arrive you will find it to be as juicy as the first one used to be, but it will not feel satisfying either because when you are satisfied you will not feel.