A high school chemistry teacher diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer turns to manufacturing and selling methamphetamine in order to secure his family's future.
— No cooking until this fly is dealt with. Have I been speaking to myself?
— The timer went off, yo. How long is this batch gonna be good for? An hour? Two?
— The batch will be good for nothing if we don't clear the contaminant.
— «Clear the contaminant»? We're making meth here, all right? Not space shuttles.
— Look, you're a fine chemist, really, with a promising future. It's just that... that I... that... that we just have different... Rhythms. It's... It's as if I'm classical but you are... are more... Jazz.
— Jazz?
— Jazz. And God knows there is nothing wrong with jazz. It's simply that I require...
— Classical.
— Exactly!
— You act like you're the first guy this ever happened to. I caught my second wife screwing my stepdad, okay? It's a cruel world, Walt. Grow up.
— I just wanted to talk to him.
— Yeah, well, now I'm talking to you. Consider this an intervention. You could have been arrested back there. You understand. I mean, speaking as your lawyer, I'm always looking for billable hours, but speaking as your business associate, I'm strongly advising that you get your shit together.
Look, l saved your life, Jesse. Are you gonna save mine?
Never make the same mistake twice.
It's because... people move on. They just move on. And we will, too. We will move on, and we will get past this because that is what human beings do. We survive. And... We survive, and we... We overcome. We survive. We survive, and...
This is my own private domicile, and I will not be harassed. Bitch.
