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As we crest the rocks overlooking the Dead Marshes I am struck with a sense of familiarity. He has been here before. he took this road many times - before the torture racks of Mordor and 800 mills of amperage at 0.5 to 1.5 seconds twenty times over liquidated his identity. He and I will never meet. But I still have his notes, Smeagol left copious notes.
My foot starts making a squeeking sound and I notice that the webbing has come slightly loose between the second and third toes on the left. Better get that tightend up before we get to the lower altitudes, or it will be flapping like a flagpole rag before we get to the black gate.