Molly and Bill were sitting at a park bench, sipping coffee and tinkering with a small arsenal of lockpicks and a hair dryer. "You're sure this is how we're gonna do it?" Bill asked, eyeing the hair dryer warily. "I'm not sure I like the idea of an urchin's tool in my toolkit." Molly chuckled. "It's a reverse hair dryer, dumbass. You're smart enough to understand basic physics, right? The vacuum sucks the doors open." "Hmph. Science is a powerful tool." Bill nodded sagely. "Just say I thought of it, and we're good." Molly rolled her eyes. "Right, of course. Ghostwriter Bill." She adjusted the blowfish-patterned scarf she was wearing. "You realize we're breaking into a children's party, right? This better be some fancy party for spoiled rich brats." "Nothing I can't handle," Bill assured her. "Some of the best keys I've jimmied together were from children's parties. The sausages are dumb, the parents are drunk, and the security guards are usually dozing off." "Good to know." "Say," Bill continued, finally glancing up from the lockpicks to give her a sideways look, "aren't you a bit old to start planning parties for children?" Molly shrugged, looking out over the park, swans gliding nonchalantly over the water. "I take some comfort in the fact that as long as there are humans, there'll always be children, and as long as there are children, there'll always be parties. It's a lucrative subgenre." A commotion from the nearby playground interrupted their conversation. A child's toy car was stuck in the swing set, and all the other children were jumping up and down to get it unstuck. The adults looked on, unhelpful as always. Bill elbowed Molly, grinning. "Looks like party practice." They carefully sidled over to the playground, trying to look casual and normal. As not to raise any flags, of course. Both were attired in what the bourgeoisie might dismiss as "smart casual" attire. The child climbed off the swing and ran over to inspect the lodged car. Molly sneakily picked up the toy car, lofting it up with a flick of the wrist and expertly aiming it down the slide. "Ta-da!" Molly declared, crouching before the awestruck child. Bill took a picture with his phone, looking into the lens with mock squinty-smile. The commotion attracted a nearby couple's attention, and Molly and Bill pretended to bind the toy car together again with bits of rope they found in the grass. "Pity," Bill said, producing a needle and thread and carefully sewing the tiny loop together, "I was really hoping that might have been secured with an overhead lock."