Dearest Suzette:

I came by your shop this morning. My, how things have changed -- all dark and abandoned. Your new hours make you harder to catch than the Loch Ness Monster! So now I’m in a pickle, since your comprehensive cleaning skills are needed in a big way, and I know you’ve got the moxie for the job.

Let me preface this by saying this isn’t your usual dry cleaning job. Think of this more like the time you magically extracted all that blueberry crumble from Mrs. Flanagan’s favorite blouse -- if there were a few gallons of something warm and gooey like blueberries on something like a blouse, only bigger.

Speaking of cleanliness: What’s the difference between a lawyer and a bucket of manure? The bucket! I know that you’ve missed my jokes and all the loyal customers I brought you after they got dirtied by the muddy waters of injustice. So whaddya say? Let’s give our kinship-powered merry-go-round another whirl, shall we? I don’t care about chemicals and the ecological footprint or any of that crap. Think of this as a chance to express your art without pesky government regulations chasing you out of business.

Let's work together to make sure all goes well with your upcoming OSHA inspection because that's what you deserve. You’re a woman with a dream of being her own boss. A woman who has put everything she has into her shop. A woman who shouldn't be dodging pointy-nosed government meddlers morning, noon and night.

So call me -- we might just find a way to finesse those inspectors enough to keep your doors open and wipe you off that bureaucratic radar.

Yours in clever cleanup,

Saul Goodman