Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKB08Q87T06Z2NJYWF74J4M

Rain misted the cul-de-sac where balloons bobbed like moons over an inflatable castle. Molly peered from the van window with scholar’s intensity, nose smudging glass, while Bill adjusted a thrifted blazer three sizes too small. Streamers jittered across a lawn like nervous snakes. Somewhere, toddlers sang atonally about cake. "You sure about the blazer? You look like an usher." Molly whispered. "It says, 'Authority,' but also, 'I can't lift my arms.'" Bill preened. Across the street, a caterer in a unicorn apron ferried a cake so large it needed diplomatic plates. Parents clustered beneath a tent, sipping coffee with the seriousness of surgeons. By the bouncy castle, a mountain of wrapped gifts reached critical altitude. The mountain glittered as though it had swallowed a rainbow and kept the receipt. "Behold the summit. Our mission is festive mountaineering." Molly said. "Do we have a sherpa, or just your paperclips?" Bill asked. "Paperclips are democratic lockpicks and great for sandwich emergencies." Molly plucked a clip from her sleeve. "I brought a balloon, two glitter bombs, and a marvelous lying smile." Bill produced a deflated giraffe. It wheezed out like a very tired accordion. Molly unfolded a crayon-drawn map stolen from her nephew’s backpack: crooked arrows, a stick dragon labeled ‘Piñata,’ X’s marking everywhere a toddler had previously cried. The legend read, in purple, Please do not sit in the guacamole again. "Entrance is through the front, obviously, because we are legends." Molly declared. "Correction: We are glamorous rumors with receipts." Bill tapped his too-small shoes. Thunder grumbled a parental warning. Somewhere a piñata twitched in fear. A clown, already resigned to chaos, rehearsed a smile that could survive frosting. "Timing is crucial. We move during Freeze Dance." Molly checked her watch. "My dignity died when I mistook fondant for soap." Bill confessed. "Backup plan: blame the magician. Everyone suspects a man with scarves." Molly grinned. Music thumped, a sugar-fueled anthem. Children erupted from the house like popcorn attempting flight. Gift wrap flashed in the sun, each square an invitation, each bow an audacious dare. Bill swallowed, which sounded suspiciously like gift bags rubbing together. "Is it wrong if the presents haven’t experienced love yet?" Bill wondered. "It’s redistribution of glitter. We’re Robin Hood in sequins." Molly adjusted her beanie. "Operation Borrowed Birthday begins with the very first spilled juice." Bill raised a finger. As if on cue, a cup performed a graceful swan dive. Parents bowed to the altar of napkins. The air filled with the shriek of kazoo liberty. "Ready to dance like chairs don’t exist tonight, Bill?" Molly breathed. "I was born chairless. Lead on, Duchess of Mischief." Bill rolled his shoulders. They stepped from the van as confetti began to fall, not from the sky, but from a rogue party cannon with excellent comedic timing. Somewhere a magician sneezed and produced a rabbit that judged them quietly. The gift mountain gleamed, naive and doomed, and the two thieves joined the stampede disguised as grown-ups who had definitely been invited.