Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7K8PRRKSCMQ766YPY5RMS

Molly hunched over the rickety kitchen table in their cramped apartment, a half-eaten pizza slice dangling from her fingers. Maps of the suburban neighborhood sprawled out before her, marked with red Xs where birthday parties were rumored to be popping off like fireworks. Bill paced behind her, his lanky frame casting jittery shadows under the flickering bulb overhead. He adjusted the oversized clown nose perched on his face—part of their "disguise kit," as he called it. "This is genius, Mol," Bill said, grinning like a kid who'd just discovered candy in his stocking. "Kids' parties are goldmines. Presents everywhere, no security, and the rugrats are too busy with cake and piñatas to notice us swiping the loot." Molly snorted, wiping sauce from her chin. "Genius? We're talking about breaking into a five-year-old's bash, Billy. What if we get caught? 'Excuse me, officer, we were just... delivering the wrong kind of surprise?'" Bill waved her off, snatching a marker to circle a house on the map. "Nah, we'll blend right in. You in that frilly fairy costume, me as Bozo the Thief—er, Clown. We crash the party at peak chaos: right after the magician pulls the rabbit out of his hat. Grab the gift table, stuff it in these duffel bags disguised as party favors. In and out in ten minutes." She leaned back, crossing her arms. "And the getaway? We're hauling a mountain of Barbies and action figures in a stolen minivan painted like a circus wagon. Sounds foolproof—if you're a fool." "Hey, fools get rich!" Bill shot back, his eyes lighting up. "Remember that time we nicked the vending machine from the office party? This is better. No adults watching the presents; they're all three sheets to the wind on punch. We pose as entertainers, do a quick song—'Happy Birthday, hand over the toys!'—and poof, we're ghosts." Molly rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Song? You're tone-deaf, and your dance moves look like a giraffe having a seizure. What if a kid recognizes us from the neighborhood watch poster? 'Mommy, those clowns stole Timmy's Lego set!'" Bill plopped down beside her, stealing her pizza slice. "Then we improvise. Blame the dog. Or the piñata fairy. Come on, Mol, think of the payout. Resell that haul on the black market—parents pay top dollar to replace stolen swag. We're heroes in disguise." She sighed, tracing the route on the map with her finger. "Fine, but if we end up in kiddie jail—or worse, grounded—we're blaming your clown nose. It smells like regret." Bill laughed, pulling her into a mock hug. "Deal. To the heist-mobile!" As the sun dipped low, casting orange glows through the grimy window, the two thieves high-fived over their absurd blueprint. The children's party loomed like a candy-coated vault, ripe for the picking—or the pinching. Little did they know, the real chaos awaited in balloon animals and sugar highs.