My name is Walter Hartwell White...I live at 308 Negra Arroyo
Lane, Albuquerque, New Mexico...   Skylar's voice sounds small
and frightened. He can hear the TV in the background, the
reporter calmly recounting the events of the bombing.  "How are
you doing?" he asks her.   "How am I doing? How are you doing?"
"I'm, uh..." He looks around, as if searching for the answer to
her question. He's just poisoned a child, blown up a nursing
home, killed three men, and skillfully manipulated his only
friend in the process. How does he feel? "I'm doing quite well."
He sighs.  "I'm good."  Skyler, you are the love of my life, I
hope you know that. Walter Junior, you're my big man.  "Jesus,
Walt, the news here. Gus Fring is dead. He was blown up along
with some person from some...Mexican cartel and the DEA has no
idea what to make of it." She hesitates. "Do you know about
this?"  Walt doesn't say anything. He keeps staring off at the
distance, mind racing.  There are... there are going to be some
things, things that you'