Night draped the suburban cul-de-sac in blue gloom as Molly and Bill crouched behind a thick hedge. A faint muffled giggle floated from a window where kids had gathered for sugar and laughter. Bill adjusted his black gloves, eyeing a pacifier and a tower of wrapped surprises stacked near the door. Molly smirked and tapped a nearby sprinkler. Tension cracked like frozen candy. Festive balloons bobbed above a picket fence barrier that seemed more festive than formidable. Their hearts pounded like pinatas ready to burst. A stray balloon bobbed gently beyond reach. Somewhere inside a pinwheel twirled against plastic streamers. Molly: You see that glowing cake? We grab it and run when confetti pops. Bill: Confetti? That’s a distraction we’ll use for cover. Timing is key. Molly: Hurry up, butterfingers, the clown is rigging the pinata. Bill: I’ve got grappling hook and tutu. Nothing screams stealth like flair. Molly: Presents glitter under the tablecloth. We need a bigger sack. Bill: Do kids scream or cry if their gifts disappear? Molly: We distract them with balloons filled with confetti and rubber spiders. Bill: Then we vanish into the night with armfuls of wrapping paper. Bill: Where do we hide pinata candy?