As the final eight episodes of Breaking Bad ran down to a close, it was hard for me to think of much else beyond the show: getting caught up in the story again, being terrified for certain characters’ lives, trying to second-guess Vince Gilligan and his writers (and failing every time), and hoping the last episode would, for want of a better word, fit. Finales are always important, even when they aren’t designed to be. We look for meaning in structure, and read significance into context, so that the last hour (or half hour) of a show has inherent weight to it. “Felina” was designed as a conclusion; what’s more, it was a conclusion to one of the most intensely serialized narratives in the history of the medium, a story that built on top of itself week by week, year by year, until it came to a closing point. If the finale had been weak—if Gilligan and company has strained plausibility too much, if they’d tried to force in one last shocking twist, if they’d made it too happy or too dire, if they pushed in an ironic twist that offered a conclusion without closure—it would’ve been impossible to remove it from the rest of the show. To balance this seemed nearly impossible to me. Long stories are difficult to pull off; perspectives change, personalities shift, and no plan is a perfect plan. The idea that anyone could’ve known exactly where Walter White’s adventures in chemistry were going to end up is absurd, because television is not a static medium. It’s not a novel where an author can go back and fiddle with the first chapters to make sure everything is to his or her liking. “Felina” is simple, sad, and a little goofy. It has its lumpy bits, its moments of inelegance, and it failed to make some grand final statement on power and greed, but that’s fine. “Ozymandias,” the series’ antepenultimate hour, was the true slam-bang climax, the moment when all the horrors came home to roost. The last two episodes are just the slow, lonely shuffle of a man who is finally forced to see who he really is. He gets one last chance to do some good with the only tools he has left. I think I knew it was perfect when I saw Cranston back in the clothes he wore in the pilot. No more Heisenberg. He’s just Walter Hartwell White. And then he’s gone.