Molly bumped into a discarded styrofoam table with a wolf mask, just large enough to fit her face. Tipping it sideways, Molly stood it upright on the flap of discarded petals, forcing it into position above her eyes, pinching it in the process. It was a colossal, blunt mask that resembled a wolf pelt. Bill slid a few more bows beneath her elbow, keeping her at bay. "Alright darlin'," Molly said – from her mask – "It's gotta be us." "All right," Bill said, "But how do we know they'll take the bait?" However his skepticism muted him before speech, muddling it all up as both sensed blood in the water. Molly quietly pierced his question, "Let's toss out the trash: see if people through it all away and then send'em in lookin' for it. People do the stupidest things. Take the trash out? It's always a wonder how they forget - always in the garage, in some alley, under your balcony? Loads, loads of things people leave behind." "Teach'em, lesson," Bill responded, nodding up the appointed direction where Molly's wet eye just caught first sight, "Where can it be?" Molly typed happily kerak, kerak, spinning about the board, chewing on the soft, white drapery of the white fur shawl that draped over her shoulders and back in mirthful fontude. Her warm arms beckoned Bill closer. "You remember Mr. Calloreller?" "Calloreller, the musician," Bill began, chuckling a kitty purr like a dark ton above the winter gates, "Yeah, I remember. From the clubhouse staff. A little odd and kind of loud, isn't he?" Standing overstocked with his good ear and his good eye, he read her mind, "Yeah, it's kiddish." "Yeah, that's what we need. Come on, somebody cares about silly hand gestures, somebody cares about symmetry chairs, just pure involvement, right?" Molly listened on, smoothing the energy of his thought. "Yeah, I remember something he did on occasion. He sometimes held concerts for the little ones in the basket room. He'd try to be symphonic, you know?" "Yes, exactly," Molly followed along, thinking, "We are going to steal the baskets, a-lot of them. They are gonna be scratching their heads. If we did this in the middle of a children's party, What a reaction! We gotta be the only band that ever fled before gathering up their instruments."