In the dim light of their cluttered apartment, Molly sat cross-legged on the worn couch, her fingers twirling a tiny key between them. Bill lounged in the armchair across from her, his gaze fixated on the scuffed ceiling. "Listen, Mols," he said, clearing his throat. "We got this one all wrong." Molly raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you think we got any jobs wrong?" Bill leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Young and bratty parents throwing an over-the-top party for their only child? C'mon, how many people know how to spell today's capital of Honduras?" "I do," Molly said. "Tegucigalpa." "All fun facts." Bill waved his hand dismissively. "This is gonna be a disaster. We’ll be stuck in there with all those obnoxious screamers, and—" Molly held up a hand. "Are you kicking the job?" "If we don't come up with a better plan, yeah." Bill sighed. "You know I hate these oddball types of heists. Somewhere, some mother is gonna be crying over her precious Little League trophy." "Well, maybe we should look at it this way. All those presents—" Molly grinned wickedly. "Just think about the craftsmanship skills of some of those Etsy sellers. We could be ripping off incredible work by these indie artisans." Bill rolled his eyes. "That's the best 'positive spin' you've got?" Molly sighed. "Tch. Fine. Less codependent and more commercial. How's that?" Bill shrugged. "I dunno, maybe we should back out now and chalk it up to your charm not working and my nerves acting up." Molly's face hardened. "Is that what you really think?” Bill stopped, took a deep breath. "No. Promise. But our spies planted at the local hardware store say no jewelry being ordered, no beauty items, and no high-end goodies. It's like a free-for-all." "So?" Molly smirked. "Maybe we could up the expense value and deliver it back to their house." Bill furrowed his brow. "I don't like the sound of that." Molly pointed at Bill. "How many parents here would prefer to buy a toy train every month for the next twelve years, or one day go on a train to somewhere new?" Bill thought for a moment, then a grin bloomed on his face. "You know what’s in that story? A baby carriage could be the key." Molly slapped Bill's arm. "Wait, this isn't some metaphor for our heist—" Bill grabbed Molly's shoulders. "We could do it, Mols. We could cut a corner, take the baby, swap it out for an identical model, take the excess presents, deliver the baby carriage to the one-year mark, get the cash, and then smash the precious nonsense—" Molly's face fell. "Do you know how many ways that could go wrong?" Bill shrugged. "More than the last heist, right?" Molly shivered at the thought of their last attempt. "I hate to think of Nate having to work so hard to avoid bounty hunters. I wouldn’t forgive myself..." The room grew silent except for the ticking of the old clock on the mantle. Bill chewed his lip, then said, "How long since we slept, Mols? It's certainly been more than a week." Molly whispered, "I'll rejoin you after I get my beauty sleep." --- A buzz in his pocket jerked Bill away from his slumber. He dug the phone out, swiped the screen on. **Staying a week. Not to worry. Let me know if you can't find the baby carriage. ~~collision test incoming (after the hatching)~~ Updates as promised. Every time someone reads this poem, he'll have a light reveal when next time begs to be revisited. Good luck on your heist. ~Mom** Bill smiled. "It doesn't say where to put Nate."