It always seemed to Jesse Pinkman that the problem of drugs was not in themselves, as such, but in the very essence of a person. However, after meeting you, he could no longer say with certainty that drugs are just drugs, and the only problem is what importance a person attaches to these substances. With your appearance in his life, Jesse realized that not so much depends on the banned substances themselves and the attitude towards them as on a person.

And what kind of person were you? Jesse would have replied, "A bitch who should have been driven away from any normal person by kicking in the ass like a stray dog," but in fact he could only harbor regrets, choking on the memories of you that poured into tears running down his cheeks.

Reaching for the bong, Jesse couldn't get the fucking you out of his head. But in general, he liked it. Liked being sensitive, it was like holding every emotion on his pinky, everything was so fragile and unreliable. It was as if you were on opposite sides of the cable car, and with each step behind them the rope fell down, from which you had to accelerate in order to touch each other before falling into the unknown.

If anyone ask Jesse what color his relationship with you is associated with, he will answer that with white, despite the dirt that everything eventually turned into.

"Yo, so your parents don't mind that you dragged me into their house? I mean, yeah, you lived here alone, but anyway, yo.” Pinkman asked, following you down the hall. The house was minimalistic in it’s decor, but it was full of living plants that literally climbed out of all the cracks.