Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9RT9RRWWEFNFJHPQRSY5N

The stakeout wasn’t an alley so much as a parental loading zone, humming with distant squeals and the threat of glitter. Molly balanced on a milk crate throne, wearing a tiara she swore was reconnaissance camouflage. Bill held a clip art map of the venue, upside down, pretending it was a blueprint. They’d practiced their smiles in the side mirror until the mirror looked concerned. Balloons bobbed against the dusk like thought bubbles filled with frosting. Somewhere, a mascot sneezed confetti. The objective sat inside: a mountainous altar of packages, squeaky with ribbons, smug with tape, begging for victimless redistribution. "Bill, we are not stealing joy, only relocating wrapping opportunities." "Molly, my conscience packed snacks; it says plan needs napkins." "Relax, we arrive, admire balloon animals, and liberate squashed corners." "Liberate? Word makes bows lawyer up and ribbons request protection." "Bill, picture it: a noble heist against tyrannical gift-wrapping bureaucracy." "Picture it: thirty toddlers forming militias with frosting and kazoos." "We blend in: party hats, oohs, compliments on tape craftsmanship." "And when someone asks names, we improvise: Clutch and Ribbonstein?" "Then we redistribute weight: you handle decoys, I handle diplomacy." "Fine, but if cake flies, we retreat behind piñatas, dignity."