"Don't hang up," I pleaded at the last second.
"Oh, okay," he said casually. "Let me fix my drink."
I listened to him get out of bed and light a cigarette.
"Just walking to the kitchen," he reported.
"Sounds good … love you."
"Love you too."

I met Kent in 1985. We both worked at the Ken Cinema in San Diego. He was a projectionist and I made popcorn. We eventually learned that both of us loved to boogie. So we played records and danced until 2 a.m. Then we kissed on the couch which belonged to his roommate, Ernie.

Forty years later, we remembered all that—the get downs and the reefer and the beers on tap.

I became a fan of Barry White thanks to DJ Kent on Monday nights at the Whistle Stop, which was a casual, low-lit gay bar in South Park where Kent would often play the silky baritones of the Prince of Pillow Talk: "I've heard people say that, too much of anything is no good for you, baby … but, I don't know about that.” Kent and I would agree:

We can’t get enough of that L-O-V-E

I cherish my record collection. And I probably (👀, girrrrrl*) have some of Kent's vinyl in the bins. This makes me happy.

* Kent’s voice in my head.

❤️ Kent Landis Hartman ❤️
(1953–2025)

⌘