<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><channel><title>R Sly on Gromet's Plaza Archive</title><link>/authors/r-sly/</link><description>Recent content in R Sly on Gromet's Plaza Archive</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Fri, 17 Mar 2006 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="/authors/r-sly/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>A Weekend of Surprises</title><link>/stories/2006/03/17/a-weekend-of-surprises/</link><pubDate>Fri, 17 Mar 2006 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2006/03/17/a-weekend-of-surprises/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;This story sent to me by Rubbersheep,
thank you for sending it in.
If you are the author of this story,
please let me know&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Part 1&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Hi my name is Robert and this was the
first time that I had lived away from home, having been moved by my firm to an
office in the City. After a
seemingly never-ending search, I found a flat to rent – more expensive that
I had had in mind, but much better than a bed-sit.
It was in fact an ordinary semi-detached house divided into two flats,
one on the ground floor and the other upstairs, which was mine.
A small garage was there for my car, and although somewhat uncared for
a very private walled garden at the back.
As part of the deal to get the flat, I agreed with the landlord to at
least keep the grass cut.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>