Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNF15QXK8PZEDY7HRK1JT2H

Molly hunched over a worn map of the neighborhood, her eyes glittering with mischief. The house on Maple Street was a pastel nightmare of balloons and streamers, but behind the garish façade lay a treasure trove of brightly wrapped presents. She tapped the spot marked with a cartoon clown. Molly: "Alright, Bill, here's the plan. We slip in during the piñata distraction." Bill: "You really think a bunch of eight‑year‑olds will be that distracted by a donkey made of papier‑mâché?" Molly: "Trust me, the sugar high will do the rest." Bill: "Okay, but what about the loot? The presents are stacked like a birthday tower." Molly: "We grab the lot, dump them in the back of my grandma’s shopping cart, and roll out before the cake even hits the table." Bill: "Sounds like a plan, but we need a signal. I don’t want to get caught singing 'Happy Birthday' to a bunch of kids." Molly: "I'll wave a glowing frisbee. When I throw it, that’s our cue." Bill: "Perfect. And if anyone asks, we’re clowns hired for the entertainment." Molly: "Now, let's synchronize our watches. We go in at 3:15, right when the magic show starts." Bill: "Got it. And if the magician pulls a rabbit out of the hat, we’ll steal that too." Molly: "Only if it’s a plush one. I’ve got a soft spot for cuddly loot." Bill: "Deal. Now, let’s move. The cake isn’t going to cut itself." Molly: Remember, how cute the kids look, we don’t steal the balloons. They’re air, not profit. Bill: Right, balloons are distraction, not a dividend. We focus on the presents, not floaters. Molly: And if the birthday song starts, we hum along. It’ll keep us undercover. Bill: Exactly. Just don’t forget to smile. It’s a children’s party, after all. At 3:15, the living room erupted in a burst of glittering confetti as the magician tugged a silk scarf from his sleeve. Molly slipped through the side door, her oversized clown shoes squeaking on the polished floor. Bill trailed behind, shouldering a battered backpack that thudded with each step, more like a marching band than a thief. The piñata, a bloated donkey, swayed above the children, who scrambled for candy with the urgency of tiny pirates. Molly gestured toward the mountain of presents, bright boxes threatening to topple. She tossed the glowing frisbee, its neon trail arcing through the air like a comet. The children gasped, pointing at the luminous disc, convinced it was part of the show. While the audience shrieked with delight, Molly and Bill swooped in, scooping gifts into the cart with the precision of seasoned surgeons. The cart rattled away, its wheels humming a quiet victory song. In the kitchen, the birthday cake sat untouched, its candles flickering like tiny beacons. As the final note of the magic trick faded, the thieves slipped out, the front door closing with a soft click. Outside, streetlights cast long shadows, and the night air smelled of frosting and mischief forever.