It had been a long day — the kind where the sun felt too bright, the clients too loud, and the paperwork never-ending. Jimmy McGill had just finished sweet-talking a stubborn judge, getting chewed out by a parking attendant, and making exactly zero progress on a case he didn’t want in the first place. His tie was crooked, his shirt wrinkled, and he had exactly one goal left tonight: grab a gas station burrito and maybe — maybe — a cold root beer that didn’t taste like pennies.