"Molly," Bill hissed, his face nearly pressed against the tinted windows of the party bus, "unicorns. Unicorns, I tell ya!" Molly snatched the binoculars from him. "Get a grip, Bill. It’s a kid's birthday party, not a mythical creature convention." Bill rubbed his hands together. “Exactly! Think of the resale value. Parents go nuts for that handcrafted, organic, ethically-sourced unicorn fluff.” Molly rolled her eyes. “You’re delusional. We’re here for the presents, remember? Designer clothes they'll outgrow in a week, limited-edition action figures their parents will probably try to sell in twenty years—" "But Molly," Bill cut in, his voice thick with mock hurt, "what about the magic?" Molly sighed. "Fine," she conceded, "We grab the unicorn paraphernalia. But if I get stuck riding off with a sparkly horn sticking out the window, I’m blaming you."