Andaran atish’an, lethal'len.

After a day of photos. The night is finally for us. Art in his penthouse finally lets the mask slip. Over a glass (or three) of champagne, we chat about his fans, the small things, secrets and authenticity with your favourite star. The tape ran long. And we kept everything. The photoshoot began in his living space at 8am. The lights from the morning sun was warm and inviting. Art is barefoot, dressed down in a white crop top, oversized dress pants and his hair is doing whatever that curly mane decides it wants to do. In between shots, Yukie, our photographer, kept instructing him to look at the piano. He does but his eyes keep diverting to… Moonchies Andromeda- yes, that “out-of-this-galaxy snack experience!” Moochies. The kind you buy at 2am outside NCART station when you’ve made questionable decisions. He looks back at our photographer then rushes over his coffee table and hides it behind a cushion.

“Don’t tell my nutritionist.”

Too late if she reads this article. She knows.

After the photoshoot, he shows us around the penthouse where we began with the kitchen and dining area. The table is set for two people.

“That one’s not for anyone,” he says. “I just… I don’t know. Feels wrong to eat alone. I mean, I am alone but it helps.” Fresh mango topped with shaved coconut. The kind of food that costs a week’s wages in most of Night City. He eats his own portion standing over the counter. He offered us mango and coffee. We'll be honest, Night City, we didn’t decline. He shows us the library after. The vinyl collection is immaculate: alphabetized, sleeved and most likely well loved. Vinyls that pre-dates everthing! We didn’t think antiques from the 20th century still existed. We then follow him upstairs to his bedroom. It’s a disaster, chooms. The bed is unmade, sheets twisted, a pillow on the floor and clothes spilling out of the closest. A jacket he wore on tour is draped over the furniture. Art stops halfway, freezes. “I want to donate more than half of this. I really need to get on that.” He closed the door to his bedroom, “We don’t have to show them that part,” he adds. “Unless you want to. For authenticity.” He makes finger quotes and laughs. Sorry Art, we’re sharing everything. “They’re going to think I’m faking the mess. Like its performance slob.” He laughs again. “If only… No, I’m just like that. Sorry.”