I was going through a box of books and I pulled out one with a name of the author in large black letters: Nick Kent. I looked at the guy on the cover of the book. He was dressed in a black, long, slim coat, with a thin scarf, eyeliner, and a cigarette. He wore a look of tiresome fragility and artistic rebellion. I thought, “Hmmm, he looks like some rock star from the 70’s, a cross between Keith Richards and Alice Cooper, but I am not sure I have heard of him.” His demeanor appealed to me—I had a soft spot for all persons who dressed in black.

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