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	<title>The Repository of Excellence &#187; short story</title>
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		<title>The Box</title>
		<link>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2011/03/05/the-box/</link>
		<comments>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2011/03/05/the-box/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 05 Mar 2011 21:18:32 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>David</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[box]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[Ann shivered as she walked back to her desk from lunch. Even for winter, the office felt unnaturally cold, and the chicken soup she’d had for lunch had done little to warm her. She pushed through the fire doors separating the office from the canteen and looked across the room. Not surprisingly, she was alone.]]></description>
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		<title>No Escape</title>
		<link>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2010/06/05/no-escape/</link>
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		<pubDate>Sat, 05 Jun 2010 23:26:21 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>David</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[escape]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[hunted]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[man]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[The baker’s eyes narrowed as he examined the stranger in the flickering candle-light. It was almost five o’clock, closing time, and this man would be the last customer of the day. He had an average build and height, but wore a hooded cloak which cast a shadow across his face. He also wore an eye-patch over his left eye, which made the baker nervous. “Your change, sir.” The baker slid three coins across the counter, his eyes still locked on the stranger. The other man nodded, and took the loaf in one hand. With the other, he slid the coins into his pouch. “Thank you,&#8221; he muttered, and left the counter without another word. The baker pursed his lips, and watched as the stranger walked back out, into the cold evening air. Outside, the man buttoned his coat, and tucked the bread beneath his cloak. He walked in the shadows, avoiding the gaslights where possible, and increasing his stride where not. As he walked, he held his belt, and felt the weight of his money pouch. It had lost half its burden since he had set out three weeks ago. Since he had escaped. Soon, the man left the glow [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Tayto</title>
		<link>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2008/10/10/tayto/</link>
		<comments>http://www.therepositoryofexcellence.com/2008/10/10/tayto/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 10 Oct 2008 20:46:34 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>David</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[history]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[name]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[short story]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[tayto]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[“So, um, where did you get the name Tayto?” It was the question they always asked. Not right after you met them, but after a while. Eventually there’d be a gap in the conversation, the club&#8217;s music would be between songs, and they’d throw it out there. It had taken this girl about five minutes. “I don’t know, that’s just what people call me” One of the lads turns around behind me and leans his drunken head over my shoulder. “It’s because he can’t stop munching those cheese and onion!” Ha-ha. That’s very fucking original, isn’t it? He goes back to the slapper he’s trying it on with and leaves me and the girl alone. “So you don’t know where you got your own name?” “It’s not my name, it’s just what people call me” She looks at me like I’m the biggest eejit in Dublin, and does that little half smile and head-bob women do when they’re not impressed. The music starts up again and we can’t talk for another two or three minutes. While we’re incommunicado, she starts looking around at the other people in the club, clearly bored out of her tree. I’ve totally blown any chance [...]]]></description>
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