Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK3A9KA9MY8Z8RYHHM6222Y

The rain slicked the windshield of the stolen ice cream truck, blurring the colorful facade of the community center into a watery smear of despair. Molly adjusted the night vision goggles, though it was barely afternoon, because she believed in looking professional regardless of the lighting conditions. Bill sat in the passenger seat, crunching loudly on a bag of stolen pretzels that smelled vaguely of regret and artificial cheese. He watched the bounce house inflate in the distant parking lot, a monstrosity of neon vinyl pulsing like an infected heart. We are seriously roasting a kindergarten birthday party, Bill muttered, wiping sticky crumbs from his chin. Molly tapped the blueprint spread across the dashboard. It was a napkin with crayon drawings on it. It is not roasting, she corrected sharply. It is asset redistribution. Those children have too many trucks. They need to learn loss. Bill looked at the security measures through the glass. There was a clown. The clown was juggling chainsaws. That clown is a liability, Bill said. He looks insane. He might kill us. That clown is amateur hour, Molly replied. I checked his union card. He is not certified. We move when the cake cutting starts. Everyone sings. Everyone closes their eyes. He is high on sugar. He is predictable. Bill sighed and shifted his weight, the leather seat creaking under his bulk. He imagined the loot. Gift bags filled with slime and sock puppets. The cash envelopes taped inside cards. The big ticket items like remote control helicopters that barely flew. He dreamed of yachts. What about the parents, Bill asked. They are huge. They are distracted by wine and silence, Molly said. We wear the costumes. We are the entertainers. She held up a sequined vest that smelled of glitter and poverty. Bill recoiled as if she were holding a radioactive snake. He looked back at the clown who had now set a balloon animal on fire. The chaos inside was palpable even through the reinforced glass. I am not wearing the vest, Bill stated firmly. You wear the vest or you walk, Molly threatened. The sequins itch. I have sensitive skin. Pain is temporary. Rich is forever. Bill considered the rain outside. He considered the vest. He considered the fact that he was currently wanted in three states for a misunderstanding involving a zoo and a very confused llama. He really hated llamas. Fine, Bill groaned. But I get the cash envelopes. Molly smiled a shark smile that did not reach her eyes. She started the engine of the ice cream truck. The music box began to play a distorted version of a song about selling ice cream. Deal, Molly said. Do we take the cake too. No. Carbs ruin getaways. They stepped out into the rain, looking less like criminals and more like failed magicians heading toward a gig they knew would end in tears. The bounce house waited. The clown missed a chainsaw catch and screamed.