Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKB4KD9T7NEA7BR8JN31JWQ

Molly crouched behind a hydrangea bush that smelled like floral shampoo and regret. Across the yard, rainbow bunting fluttered above a backyard packed with tiny humans in paper crowns. A clown was inflating something that looked like a balloon giraffe having an existential crisis. The table of presents sat under a pop-up tent, piled high in glossy paper like a monument to credit card debt. Bill adjusted the strap of his duffel bag and whispered, “Tell me again why we’re robbing a kindergarten birthday party.” Molly said, “Because adults label their gifts. Kids don’t. It’s pure chaos, Bill. Anonymous capitalism.” Bill squinted. “Also because you said there’d be drones.” “There are,” Molly said. “Two. They’re on the cupcakes. Little plastic ones. But still.” Bill sighed. “I did not wear my lucky burglary socks for plastic drones.” Molly peeked through the leaves. “Focus. Presents are on the left. Pinata is on the right. That’s our diversion.” Bill frowned. “We’re not hitting the pinata. That’s like punching joy.” Molly said, “We’re not punching it. We’re liberating it. With a gentle tap. Candy explosion. Screaming. Everyone looks away. We sweep the tent.” Bill said, “You keep saying ‘sweep’ like we’re janitors.” Molly said, “We are. We’re taking out the trash. Specifically, the trash is sixteen wrapped boxes and one suspiciously large Lego set.” Bill nodded slowly. “You can always tell the Lego. It’s the only gift that weighs as much as a mistake.” From the patio, a dad in cargo shorts announced something into a megaphone that probably came free with his midlife crisis. Children cheered. A dog barked like it had opinions. Molly said, “Timing. They’re about to sing.” Bill said, “They sing twice now, right? Once at cake, once when they forget they already sang?” Molly said, “Exactly. On the second ‘Happy Birthday,’ the adults are distracted by lighters and the kids are distracted by frosting. That’s our window.” Bill tapped his pocket. “I brought tools.” Molly said, “What tools.” Bill produced a roll of clear tape and a marker. “For labeling. So we don’t steal the gift from the kid with allergies. I have standards.” Molly stared. “We are criminals.” Bill said, “Ethical criminals. Like raccoons with a code.” Molly shifted her gaze to the driveway. “We still need cover. We can’t just walk in wearing black.” Bill looked down at his turtleneck. “This is charcoal.” Molly said, “It’s also July. You’re dressed like a stressed-out art professor.” Bill said, “Fine. What’s the disguise.” Molly reached into her tote and pulled out two cone party hats and a pack of temporary tattoos. “We blend in. We become ‘fun adults.’” Bill said, “I’d rather get arrested.” Molly slapped a party hat onto his head. “Smile. If anyone asks, you’re Uncle Bill.” Bill said, “My name is Bill.” Molly said, “Perfect. Don’t improvise. It’ll ruin everything.” They watched the kids gather around the cake. The birthday child, a tiny dictator in a crown, bounced on their toes like a spring-loaded wish. Bill whispered, “Okay, on the song, we move.” Molly said, “Not the first. The first is a trap. The first is for photos.” Bill said, “Everything is for photos now. Even the dog looks like it’s posing.” Molly said, “Then we wait for the second song, the one with less joy and more spittle.” Bill said, “I can taste the germs from here.” Molly said, “Germs are just tiny witnesses. Ignore them.” The first “Happy Birthday” began, loud and off-key, like a choir of cheerful lawnmowers. Molly and Bill stayed frozen, two shrubs with anxiety. Bill murmured, “If this goes wrong, I’m blaming the clown.” Molly said, “If this goes right, I’m blaming you anyway.” The song ended in applause. The dad yelled, “One more time for the video!” and the children groaned like exhausted stockbrokers. Molly’s eyes sharpened. “Now.” Bill tightened his duffel strap. “Sweep the trash.” Molly said, “Liberate the joy.” Bill said, “Steal the Lego.” They stepped out from the hydrangeas, party hats tilted, grins pasted on, walking straight toward the tent of presents as the second, sloppier chorus began and the backyard filled with the perfect cover: sugary noise.