Walter White’s Tombstone

Thank you, Jesse, for allowing me the opportunity to address those who have gathered with us today to remember Mr. Walter White, the Everyman, the renegade, the Man Who Knocks.
I wish there were more of us in attendance today than you and, um… well, me.
I’m just a layman myself, just another guy who knows this existence as an insufferable vortex of stolen ambition, once a believer in the grandiose vision of humanity’s virtues, now a sullen dog, awaiting his weekly paycheck. This is how I came to identify with Mr. White, his aging sweaters and mustache, oversized spectacles and toothy grin. In him I saw myself, ten years out, maybe. Another pawn awaiting the inevitable toss, never to be King, Queen, or even Rook.
But then you jumped deck, Heisenberg. Facing eminent demise and a conscience that would not rest knowing your family depended on your fortunes, you went rogue in such hideous fashion that I damn you. And praise ya. Hell, I don’t know what to think of you anymore, asshole. You built an empire of amphetamine that impacts our community in ways you’ll never comprehend, nor harbor the guilt of its consequence, now that you’re gone. We’re forever haunted. And ultimately I cannot fathom why this funeral service ever happened. (Though I’m guessing it had something to do with squeezing a final drop of coin from your disheveled celebrity.)
Thus, as an Albuquerque Everyman, I do not remember you as a «Beloved Husband, Father, Teacher & Entrepreneur.» You’re dead to us, sir. You left here with nothing, and we give you nothing, aside from this random north valley wall.