Molly sat on a stack of crates in the poorly lit warehouse, her feet dangling as she examined a crudely drawn map spread out on a nearby barrel. "Alright, Bill, here's the plan," she said, pushing a strand of blonde hair back under her knit cap. Bill, adjusting his black leather gloves methodically, gave her a skeptical look. "What makes you think crashing a kid's birthday party for presents is a good idea, Molly?" Molly rolled her eyes as she pointed at the various red X’s she had marked. "Think about it. Parents are way too distracted with cake, clowns, and screaming children to notice two extra ‘guests.’ Plus, those presents are worth a fortune. Ever seen the price of the latest gadgets these days?" Bill snorted, picking up a rubber chicken from the crate beside him and squeezing it absently. "Yeah, but have you ever been to one of these things? It's not just chaos. It's pure, unfiltered bedlam. How are we supposed to blend in?" Molly grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischievous excitement. "That's the beauty of it. We don't blend in. We become part of the show. Didn't you used to dabble in clown college?" Bill's face turned a shade paler. "That was a dark time. I promised myself I'd never wear those oversized shoes again." "Well," she said with a teasing lilt, "you're going to have to dig them out, buddy. You'll be the entertainment. Think of it as method acting." Bill sighed dramatically, throwing the rubber chicken to the side. "Fine. But if a kid pulls a hamstring during my juggling act, it's on you." "Deal," Molly replied, patting his shoulder in consolation. She turned back to the map. "Now, once you're performing, I'll sneak into the side room where the presents are stashed. Luckily, kids these days are more interested in Instagramming live clowns than guarding their loot." Bill nodded, still massaging the bridge of his nose. "And what if one of the parents gets wise to you?" Molly produced a pair of birthday hats from a nearby sack. "Party hats. Everyone trusts someone in a party hat. It's a law of nature." Bill chuckled against his better judgment. "If you say so. But what's our exit strategy?" Molly pointed at the alleyway scribbled in blue marker. "Back door through the kitchen. It's a family-run restaurant, so worst-case scenario, we'll just grab a few cannolis and make a run for it." Bill raised an eyebrow, impressed. "You’ve really thought this through, haven't you?" "Of course," she replied smugly. "I even checked the birthday boy’s Instagram. He’s been bragging for weeks about the latest tablet he's going to get." Bill picked up his duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Alright. Let’s just hope your plan holds up. And for the record, if I slip on a banana peel, I’m holding you personally responsible.” Molly laughed, hopping off the crate. "Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be a star. Do a few balloon animals, a couple of card tricks, and we're golden." As they headed towards the exit, Bill adjusted his coat with a resigned smile. "You know, Molly, sometimes I think we could’ve made an honest living in showbiz.” Molly grinned back at him, her eyes twinkling. "Who says we aren’t? Now, let’s go steal some dreams, partner.” And with that, the two would-be thieves slipped out into the night, ready to turn a birthday bash into the greatest heist of their dubious careers.