Storms In The Foothils
I have waited tables. I’ve worked in bars. You know who tips well? The working poor, the lower middle class, and people who work or have worked in service industries. You know who tips shitty or not at all? Rich people, upper middle class people, and…
Today in Middle-Earth: Four Riders enter the Shire before dawn and one of them comes to Hobbiton at nightfall. (September 23rd, 3018 T.A.)
Frodo turned to go back, and then stopped, for he heard voices, just round the corner by the end of Bagshot Row. One voice was certainly the old Gaffer’s; the other was strange, and somehow unpleasant. He could not make out what it said, but he heard the Gaffer’s answers, which were rather shrill. The old man seemed put out.
‘No, Mr. Baggins has gone away. Went this morning, and my Sam went with him: anyway all his stuff went. Yes, sold out and gone, I tell’ee. Why? Why’s none of my business, or yours. Where to? That ain’t no secret. He’s moved to Bucklebury or some such place, away down yonder. Yes it is – a tidy way. I’ve never been so far myself; they’re queer folks in Buckland. No, I can’t give no message. Good night to you!’
I’m just waiting for the way I look in the mirror to look the same as when I take a selfie because so far it’s like two different people