Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNETNP73E55SMKSK0RRVXTM

The basement smelled of stale pizza and ambition, the air thick with the faint whiff of cheap cologne and the distant echo of a birthday march. A folding table held a hand‑drawn map of the community center, its walls papered with crayon suns, while a stack of invites lay scattered like fallen confetti. Molly perched on a wobbly stool, twirling a plastic spoon, and Bill squinted at a faded flyer, his glasses smudged with ketchup. She whispered, “We need a distraction that makes the kids scream with joy, not terror.” Bill tapped the flyer, pointing at a cartoon clown and a magician, and muttered, “Both are overbooked, but we could steal an act.” Molly grinned, “Let’s pose as the catering crew, roll a cart past the guard, and lift the presents while the crowd sings ‘Happy Birthday.’” Bill rubbed his chin, “What about the security guard? He’s got a clipboard and a badge that could double as a weapon.” Molly waved a hand, “We’ll slip him a fake VIP invite. He’ll wave us through, and we’ll be inside before the first balloon pops.” Bill chuckled, “And the loot? The presents are stacked in a corner, each wrapped in glittery paper that could set off an alarm if we’re not careful.” Molly nodded, “We’ll use a glitter bomb. One flash and the room sparkles while we grab the stash. The kids will think it’s part of the show.” Bill grinned, “Alright, we’ve got a catering cover, a glitter distraction, and a fake VIP. We’ll rehearse at dawn and claim the prize.” The next morning, the two thieves met in a cramped kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee mingling with the lingering aroma of glue from a hastily assembled fake mustache. Molly laid out a checklist: a borrowed catering van, a bright red apron with a stitched logo, and a stack of faux VIP invitations printed on cheap cardstock. Bill examined the list, cross‑checking each item against a mental diagram of the community center’s floor plan, noting the location of the security desk, the cake table, and the cluster of wrapped gifts near the stage. He muttered about the probability of a stray balloon popping during the heist, while Molly assured him that the glitter bomb would mask any accidental noise. They practiced their roles in front of a cracked mirror, Bill perfecting a nervous smile that looked more like a wince, and Molly rehearsing a cheerful “Welcome, welcome!” that could charm a mouse. By noon, they had transformed their shabby hideout into a makeshift rehearsal space, complete with a cardboard cutout of a bouncy castle and a wobbly table representing the gift pile. They high‑fived, the sound echoing off the concrete, and set the final time on a battered alarm clock: 3:15 PM, just as the birthday song began. With a final glance at the map, they slipped out, their hearts pounding in time with the imagined beats of a children’s drum, confident that by nightfall they would be the richest pair of petty thieves the town had ever seen.