Portrait of an Artist "Respawned"

"I'm high as hell, and haven't eaten anything. I can't promise that I'm going to tell you the truth," the Artist told me. "Now I'm going to make toast in the kitchen."

He left for the kitchen, but immediately returned to remind me that he hadn't found the lighter. He has been looking for the lighter since we woke up at 4am. This is the 5th one in 10 days, and the "magical" disappearance of the lighter is something that greatly disturbs him. 

Eventually, at 8 or 9am, after tiring of him ranting on the subject and searching under every crevice, I conceded that I'd lost the lighter, but to no avail. "I'll get a new on for you; I have butane at home and can give you some too," I reminded him. 

In the kitchen I hear him making toast. I don't have to see him working in the kitchen, but I already know what's coming: bread warmed on a pan, with sugar sprinkled on top. It'll come with some Moroccan mint tea dipped in weed branches. 
"The branches are organic," he proudly proclaimed to me once. 

This will be our only meal for the day, but we're low on Euroshopper beer, so when we go to the supermarket, we might also consider getting some of that 50 eurocent popcorn. But we're low on cash so we may just settle for beer and art. Life is good; he's got weed and a loving Japanese dog. 

He returns from the kitchen and I turn out to be wrong about the tea; a cup of orange juice instead. I thanked him and proceeded to the task at hand: interviewing the artist.
"I like to become the character," I told him so he'd understand my questions better. He reached for the boombox and "Across 110th Street" came on the radio.

The song changed his facial expression. He was impressed with the memories the song brought him. His trip to New York in the 90s was life-altering. He learned graffiti techniques that still inspire his art. He met individuals much like me on his trip to the Bronx. Not many Dutch people have been to the Bronx, so he actually did seem to understand me better than most. 

The artist finished reminiscing about the song and produced vitamins from the bathroom. I thanked him, wondering how much we were actually concerned about our health and safety. "What does respawn mean to you?" I began asking.
"Hey, I don't want this story to elevate you, man. Normally I make myself a good breakfast and walk the dog," he noted.
"Well, I do it from time to time too, with me you are not misunderstood," I informed him before continuing. 
"So, respawn," I reminded him.

"It's about getting smacked down in life and then getting back on my feet. From being flat out on my face 5 years ago. And, more importantly, back on the track I know I belong, which I wasn't on before. I refound my creativity 3 years ago; it was lost 10 years ago, so I'm living happy as a child now. Now, I finally feel I am living the life I was supposed to be living. It all originated by fighting the system when I was young and rebelling, but I gave that struggle up and thought it would make life easier to adapt to the system and my surrounding. The day I made that decision, I gave away and sold my inner child. I went down immediately from there. Years of alcohol, drugs, and prescription drugs followed. For approximately a 7-year-period, until the man with the hammer arrived. Form there on, the curtains opened and a whole 'nother show started rolling: my path back to creativity, my revelation."

I read the story back to the Artist. "Good, you think there's a twist coming, but it's just a straightforward life," he decided.
"I'm too lazy to google who wrote it, but someone said that the difference between reality and fiction, is that fiction has to make sense," I told him..

Barely had I finished my quote, when he heard a ring and stood up proclaiming: "that's the water for the tea!"