Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQB5ACMA5SNBDTCV9RSBR1

The fluorescent lights of the diner buzzed like a swarm of angry bees, casting a sickly glow over the chipped Formica table where Molly and Bill sat. A half-eaten slice of pie sat between them, its crust curling like a disappointed parent. Molly drummed her fingers on the table, her other hand tracing the rim of her coffee cup. "So, let me get this straight," Bill said, leaning back in the booth with the confidence of a man who had never once considered the consequences of his actions. "We're robbing a *children's party*." Molly sighed. "Not robbing. *Liberating*." "Liberating presents from a bunch of six-year-olds." "Exactly. And before you start moralizing, remember that one of those kids is getting a *pony*." Bill blinked. "A *pony*?" "A *pony*, Bill. A living, breathing, hay-eating pony. Meanwhile, we can't even afford a decent toaster." Bill rubbed his temples. "Okay, fine. But how do we even *find* this party? We don't know whose kid it is." Molly grinned and slid a crumpled flyer across the table. "Already handled. Little Timmy Henderson's birthday bash. Saturday at two. Right there in the community center." Bill squinted at the flyer. "How'd you get this?" "Found it in the grocery store. Some poor mom was juggling three kids and a cart full of juice boxes. I helped her reach the top shelf." Bill groaned. "You *helped* her?" "Of course I helped her. Then I *politely* asked if she'd mind if I took one of the flyers. She was so grateful she practically shoved it in my hands." Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. "We're going to hell." Molly waved a hand. "Nah, we're going to a party. Now, here's the plan: we show up, blend in, grab the loot, and get out before anyone notices." Bill stared at her. "Blend in? Molly, we're both pushing forty. We don't *blend* anywhere." "Details." She pulled a pair of oversized sunglasses from her purse and slipped them on. "I'll be *disguised*." Bill looked at the sunglasses, then at her. "Those are the same ones you wore to the bank job." "And they worked then, didn't they?" "Yeah, until the teller asked if you were a celebrity and you panicked and said you were *Cher*." Molly shrugged. "People believe what they want to believe. Now, you're going to be my *husband*." Bill nearly choked on his coffee. "Your *what*?" "Husband. It's the most natural cover. We'll say we're Timmy's uncle and aunt." Bill groaned. "I don't even *like* kids." "Neither do I. That's why this is perfect. We won't have to pretend to be nice. Just awkward and slightly terrifying." Bill sighed, rubbing his face. "Fine. But if we get caught, I'm telling them you forced me." Molly grinned. "Deal. Now, let's go over the exit strategy. We'll need a distraction." Bill perked up. "I could set off a smoke bomb." Molly shook her head. "Too obvious. We need something subtler." "Like what?" Molly tapped her chin. "I was thinking... a piñata." Bill stared at her. "A *piñata*?" "Exactly. We'll say it's a surprise from the parents. While everyone's distracted, we grab the presents and slip out the back." Bill considered this. "That's... actually not terrible." Molly beamed. "I know. Now, all we need is a piñata." Bill sighed. "I'll add it to the list. Right after 'buy a pony' and 'learn how to be a functional adult.'"