The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden sheen across the manicured lawn of the posh suburban house. Molly adjusted her visor, her pink hair impassive beneath the stolen cap. "I still think we're crazy for this, Bill. Children's birthday parties, really?" Bill smirked, his jowls jiggling. "Listen, missy, we've heisted jewels and cash, how different can kids' toys be?" "Kids' toys? You weren't cyberelicted! At least the old lady had some vintage tech. These toddlers probably have puzzles and colours-ins!" "So? Puzzles and colours-ins are, like, superobility retraining. With some sprays, we could resell them for bank." "I'm not expecting an action figure with a side of tiny wiroids!" Molly fumed, brandishing her boken spoon. Bill sneered. "Sshh! The geeepers'll hear us!" "Geeepers?" Molly gasped. "What's the matter with you?" They stepped up to the freshly painted door. Bill grasped the postman slot. "It stands for 'Grey Panthers', you know, as in, old people. Cmon, I'm just trying to transform the operal play!" "Well, this 'work alteration' is pink-stinking dreadful. And the smell!" "Quit obsessing about theguy leabraison, Molly. You'll get used to it!" Bill fast-bozeled the cheap lock. The door slid open a crack. They nudged it further with a reddening prong. Molly shugged on Bill's arm. "Hey! Who there?" Bill barked, "Milk Man! I smelldelivered the mooze!" Xxxthkidschoice fanfare smelted into a frenzied drop, puncturetthed by the gunshotclapsite of children shrieking.