The dimly lit corner of the dive bar seemed like the perfect place to hatch a plan. Molly slumped against the sticky counter, her eyes fixed on Bill as he scribbled notes on a crumpled napkin. "Right, okay, so we go in at 3:05, when the parents are distracted by the piñata,' Bill said, his voice low and smooth. Molly snorted. 'Distracted by the piñata? Those guys are going to be too busy trying to get the kid to rip off a piece of glittery cloth without having an existential crisis.' Bill shrugged. "Hey, it's a sound plan. And we've got the perfect disguise – those wacky inflatable costumes." Molly raised an eyebrow. "You mean the ones with the built-in whoopee cushions?" Bill grinned. "The same. We'll be the life of the party, and no one will suspect a thing." Molly's gaze drifted to the worn photographs behind the bar, the faded snapshots of weddings and baby showers. 'This is going down, and it's going to be classy. I want to feel like we're doing good, Bill.' Bill's expression turned somber. 'Come on, Molly, it's just a bunch of cheap toys. They're not exactly going to change the world.' Molly's eyes spat fire. 'You know nothing about the world if you think toys are cheap, Bill. They're a facade, a distraction. This is about breaking down the status quo – of conspicuous consumption, of...' Bill raised a palm, chuckling. 'Okay, okay, you've made your point. We're playing Robin Hood, but with Play-Doh guns.' The bartender, a gruff, tattooed man with a sympathetic ear, ambled over. 'Another round, kids?' Molly's gaze snapped back to Bill. 'And we need to account for the security cameras. Can you hack into the Wi-Fi network?' Bill winked. 'Leave it to me, I've got my trusty bag of circuit-busting tricks.' Molly snorted. 'You mean the toaster oven?' Bill deadpanned. 'That's just for... creative brainstorming.' As they huddled in the tacky corner, Molly and Bill couldn't help but glance around the dingy bar, the echoes of previous revelries still lingering in the air. Their plan, though hastily cobbled together, would add another chapter to the bar's storied history of questionable decorum, but little did they know, their little caper was just about to top them all. In the silence that followed, Molly crumpled the napkin, shoving it into her denim jacket pocket. Bill lit a cigarette, exhaling a wispy plume into the stagnant air, and the bar's neon sign outside flickered like a nervous heartbeat, sensing the trouble brewing within.