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Oh, Walt. Is that you?
Red phosphorus, when heat is applied...oxidizes and yields carbonyl chloride. Phosphene gas. One good whiff of it...
The firing stops. The CHOKING SOUNDS get louder, more tortured. Horrifying. Tiny thin curls of RED SMOKE waft out through the bullet holes.
W-What if I showed you my secret? Every cook’s got his recipe -- what if I taught you mine?
Go ahead, pendejo. Kick my ass.
This is a good look for you. You’re maybe only the world’s second-biggest homo.
Oh no. Oh no. I pinched a loaf in my big boy pa--
I know a dude wants to sell his. He just goes camping with it -- but a mobile meth lab’d be the bomb.
This shit is art. Cooking is art. The shit I cook is the bomb, so don’t be telling me!
Walt peers in cabinets high and low, pulls out FLASKS, BEAKERS, TUBING, STANDS and BURNERS. He gathers all this up, loads it in a cardboard box.
Damned if I know. I described it as a “mid-century objet d’art.”
I was curious. Honestly, I never expected you to amount to much. Methamphetamine, though. I didn’t picture that. Lotta money in it, huh?
As it creeps away, Walt notes the license plate: “THE CAPN.”
Deep in thought. Considering something carefully. He rises, picks up the phone and dials. Keeps his voice low.
AND WIPE DOWN THIS!
Walt nods, overwhelmed and hiding it. Skyler doesn’t know about his doctor’s appointment.
On the pristine white of his lapel, there’s a spot of yellow MUSTARD.
Guess I should’ve had breakfast this morning.
Nobel honoree working at a car wash passes out as he stares longingly at a very distant beautiful woman.
Thanks be to Jesus for eBay!
Walt, just say the word and I’ll take you on a ride-along. You can watch us knock down a meth lab. ‘Less that’s too much excitement for you.
Close, you stupid glove compartment!
Walt -- master’s degree, Inland Empire Science Educator of the Year for ‘92, ‘95, and ‘01 -- is towel-drying cars alongside the teenage vatos.
Bogdon, no. We talked about this.
It’s a lonesome tableau.
Walt climbs out from behind the wheel, checks his watch. He’s late.
This smells like Band-Aids
Walt stands tall in his underpants, not flinching. Off him, ready to shoot the first cop he sees...
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