I live in the American Gardens Building on West 81st Street on the 11th floor. Albuquerque, New Mexico, 87104. I’m 27 years old. My name is Walter Hartwell White. This is my confession. I believe in taking care of myself, and a balanced diet and a rigorous exercise routine. Shortly after my 50th birthday, my brother-in-law, Hank Schrader, asked that I use my chemistry knowledge to cook a methamphetamine pack, which he would then sell using connections that he made through his career in the DEA. I was astounded while doing my stomach crunches. I can do a thousand now. In the shower I thought Hank was a very moral man, and I was particularly vulnerable – something he knew and took advantage of. I was reeling from a herb-mint facial masque which I leave on for 10 minutes while I prepare the rest of my routine. My after shave lotion was poised to bankrupt my family, dry my face out and make me look older. And I was weak, so I agreed. Hank had a moisturizer made by a businessman named Gustavo Fring. He sold me into servitude to this man. And when I tried to apply an anti-aging eye balm, Fring threatened my family. Eventually, Hank and Fring had a falling-out. Hank was bent on an idea of a Patrick Bateman. Some kind of abstraction. To keep me in line, he took my final moisturizing protective lotion. I was in hell. I have often contemplated suicide, but I’m a coward. Only an entity. Someone illusory. Recently, I tried once again to quit, and in response, he gave me my children. And though I can’t take this anymore, and I live in fear every day that I simply am not there, all I could think to do is to write this message and hope that you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours.