Molly leaned back on the couch in her small apartment, sifting through stolen blueprints spread haphazardly over the cushions. "Alright, giggles, she's over at Pothead's now for a few hours. The birthday kiddo party is at the community center like I thought. Though, the snacks look like they'll be lacking," she sighed melodramatically. Bill, a failed musician in his early thirties, ambled over to the couch where Molly perched sideways like an elegant avian on a branch, gazing intently at the plans in the blueprints. He glanced over at the clock on the wall, which ticked away in fuchsia numbers. “Ah, it’s only two hours out and about with her. As you said, it’s a small window,” he replied, twirling music-splattered hair from his eyes. Molly snorted indelicately, managing a half smile. “I know, right? Let's not kid ourselves.” Forget the glamour, Molly bellowed inside her head. Here’s reality, bitches: We’re planning to break into a children's party to steal all the presents. Bill's hands flew to his chest, feigning indignation. "You insinuate I've no sense of humour?" he lamented dramatically. "Never said you didn’t," Molly shot in, a trace of irritation creasing her brow. "What I'm saying is, this isn't just any heist, Bill." She glanced at him sharply. "It's perhaps the most audacious and wicked heist since the Great Get-Away with the Goonies. "Talk about thinking inside the box, in the loveliest sense though," Bill agreed, his eyebrows bouncing as he continued on with his musical wiggle. "The community center's got new cameras and flashy alarms. Knowing the type of security that's in place, one would think they're protecting Fort Knox," Molly remarked, tapping her finger on the blueprints in disapproval. "And yet, there's a certain charm to pulling off a heist, in broad daylight, when everyone's attention is on balloons, face painting, and munching on fruit slices," Bill mused, his voice steering toward a romantic fame still within reach. "Right," Molly scoffed. "Yeah, because the last thing that could go wrong is a stinking child screaming bloody murder when he discovers his favorite superhero action figure is gone." "Or toady," Bill corrected, a knowing smirk fluttering on his lips. "Regardless, it's our best shot. There'll be no one around. We'll simply enter, grab what we can, and vanish like a bit of fairy dust before anyone notices," she shared, hoping that her bravado projected confidence that she didn’t entirely feel. "Besides, the kids won't even notice a thing. They’ll all be busy eating cake," Bill contended, eager to emit a bravado of his own despite knowing deep down the vulnerability of what they were attempting. They fell silent in thought, their eyes returning to the plans in front of them. Their hearts were heavy with the understanding of what they were about to do, but their minds were buzzing with the thrill of excitement. "So, as we do plan to rekindle professional bonds in the middle of the day tomorrow, would you like another shot of what's left in this bottle?" Bill asked in a sly tone, an unfinished bottle of cheap wine between his thumb and index finger. "Honestly, consider me a pro, Bill," Molly smiled weakly, crossing her finger over her heart, pointing the other at Bill. "And besides, that's always the only plan we've got, ain't it?"