Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5ZXTF08MKHWX5BEAM1M97

The dimly lit basement of Molly’s apartment smelled faintly of mildew and stale coffee. A single bulb swung above the cluttered table, casting erratic shadows on the blueprints spread out before them. Molly leaned over the map of the neighborhood park, her finger tracing the path from the parking lot to the party pavilion. Bill sat across from her, twirling a pen between his fingers and wearing a grin that suggested he’d just eaten something he shouldn’t have. “So,” Molly began, her voice low and serious, “we hit them during the piñata. Everyone’s distracted, kids screaming, parents arguing over whose turn it is to swing the bat. We slip in, grab the presents, and vanish.” Bill snorted, leaning back in his chair. “You make it sound so easy. What if someone sees us? What if little Timmy decides to wander off and catches us red-handed with his Paw Patrol Mega Mixer?” Molly rolled her eyes. “Timmy’s six. We’ll distract him with a candy bar or something. Kids are easy.” She tapped the blueprint emphatically. “The real problem is the cake. It’s right next to the presents. Someone’s bound to notice if we’re elbow-deep in gifts while the frosting’s still moist.” Bill scratched his chin, staring at the ceiling as if it held the answers. “What if we dress up? You know, blend in. I could be a clown. You could be… I don’t know, a balloon animal maker or something.” Molly shot him a withering look. “Bill, you’re terrified of clowns. Last time we drove past a circus, you locked the car doors and started reciting the Lord’s Prayer.” “That’s irrelevant,” Bill said, waving a hand dismissively. “Besides, it’s the perfect disguise. No one questions a clown at a kids’ party. It’s like a free pass to do whatever you want. Plus, I could juggle or something. Keep ’em entertained while you grab the loot.” Molly sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fine. You can be the clown. But if you start hyperventilating in the middle of the job, I’m leaving you behind.” Bill grinned triumphantly. “Deal. Now, about transportation. We gonna use your car?” “My car’s got a ‘Check Engine’ light that’s been on since the Bush administration,” Molly muttered. “No, we’ll use yours. It’s less conspicuous.” “Mine?” Bill protested. “It’s bright green and smells like burnt popcorn!” “Exactly,” Molly said with a smirk. “No one’s gonna suspect a car that ridiculous.” She folded the blueprint and slid it into her bag. “We hit at noon sharp. Meet me here at 11. And for the love of all things holy, don’t forget your clown shoes.” Bill saluted mockingly. “You got it, boss.” He paused, then added, “What if we get caught?” Molly stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Then we improvise. Worst case scenario, we blame it on the clown.” She shot him a mischievous grin. “Ready to ruin some kids’ birthday?” Bill chuckled, shaking his head. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”