Ms Knightley put her finger on the red record button of a large, ancient tape recorder. (Ultimately, I watched her use both hands to activate the record feature of the tape deck. It made me smile.)
She stared at me blankly, “…Your name?”
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“How long did the princess live?”
“Not sure. Not very.” He checked his pockets and to his alarm realized he’d smoked his last cigarette.
“Why not?” the girl asked, as if this might be the last straw, the one that would destroy their day.
“Because her head got separated from her body, mostly. That’s why.”
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