Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5Q328TY3G0AR4AVRDSM1Y

The dim glow of a flickering streetlight cast long shadows across the alley where Molly and Bill huddled over a crumpled napkin map. Molly tapped a grease-stained finger on a hastily drawn X. “That’s the backyard,” she said. “They’ll have the presents piled up near the piñata. Easy grab.” Bill squinted. “You sure this is the right house? Last time we hit a kid’s party, we ended up stealing a bunch of diapers.” Molly rolled her eyes. “That’s because you can’t read addresses. This is the Carmichael place. Their kid’s turning six. Six-year-olds get good loot.” Bill scratched his scruffy chin. “What’s the play?” “Simple,” Molly said. “You go in as the clown.” Bill recoiled. “I hate clowns.” “Exactly. You’ll be terrifying. Parents will be too busy shielding their kids to notice you stuffing presents into a sack.” Bill frowned. “What’s your part?” “I’ll be the distraction.” She pulled out a glittery pink unicorn costume from her bag. Bill stared. “You’re kidding.” “Nope. I’ll lead a conga line around the yard while you work. By the time they realize the gifts are gone, we’ll be halfway to the pawn shop.” Bill sighed. “Fine. But if I get hit with a piñata stick again—” “You won’t.” Molly grinned. “Unless you deserve it.” They crept toward the Carmichael house, the sounds of children’s laughter and off-key singing growing louder. Bill tugged at his oversized rainbow wig. “This itches.” “Suffer for the score,” Molly muttered, adjusting her unicorn horn. A harried-looking parent waved them in. “Oh thank goodness! The entertainment’s here!” Molly beamed. “We’re *so* excited!” She elbowed Bill. “Aren’t we, *Bubbles the Clown*?” Bill forced a grin. “Honk honk.” The party was chaos—kids shrieking, cake smeared on tables, a deflating bouncy castle groaning under the weight of too many tiny feet. Molly clapped her hands. “Who wants to conga?” The children swarmed her. Bill seized his chance, sidling toward the gift table. He grabbed a sparkly-wrapped box—*clunk*. Heavy. He peeked inside. “Legos. Nice.” A tug on his sleeve. He looked down. A tiny girl in pigtails stared up at him. “Are you really a clown?” she asked. Bill froze. “Uh. Yeah.” She frowned. “Where’s your nose?” Panicked, he grabbed a cherry tomato from a nearby tray and stuck it on his face. “Ta-da!” She gasped. “Magic!” Before she could react further, Molly’s voice boomed across the yard. “Bubbles! Do the thing!” Bill tossed the tomato aside and lunged for the presents, dumping them into his oversized clown pants. Molly twirled, her unicorn tail whipping into a dad’s punch cup. “Oops!” The distraction worked—Bill bolted for the fence, loot spilling from his pockets. Molly sprinted after him, kids still clinging to her conga line. They tumbled into the alley, panting. Bill pulled a stuffed dinosaur from his sleeve. “We did it.” Molly high-fived him. “Told you six-year-olds deliver.” A police siren wailed in the distance. Bill groaned. “Or not.” Molly grabbed his arm. “Run, Bubbles.” And they vanished into the night, trailing glitter and stolen birthday dreams.