Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY83EFW8PG8Q3YJ6A0MYCD3

Dingy diner booth, grease-stained menu propped against a half-eaten apple pie, Molly taps a crumpled party flier for “Lila’s 7th Unicorn Extravaganza” while Bill picks at a ketchup stain on his leather glove, the hum of a broken freezer droning in the background. She slides the flier across the table, her chipped nail polish catching the dim neon light. The diner’s linoleum sticks to Bill’s shoes as he shifts, scratching his neck. “The presents are stashed in the back closet—locked, but I swiped the key blueprint from the party planner’s trash.” “Wait—kids? I thought we were stealing from a mansion. Kids scream. I once got chased by a toddler with a plastic sword for taking a lollipop.” “Toddlers are predictable. Distract them with a sparkly pinata diversion, and they’ll forget everything but candy.” “What if the pinata breaks early? I don’t know how to fix a unicorn pinata. I can’t even fold an origami crane.” “I’ve got a backup—goodie bags filled with fake rubber snakes. They’ll panic and herd into the game room.” “Fake snakes? Last time I used a fake snake, my cousin’s cat attacked me and I hid in a laundry hamper for two hours.” “Quit with the cat stories. The closet’s unguarded from 3:15 to 3:30—when the magician does his rabbit trick.” “Magicians have rabbits. Rabbits bite. I got bit by a rabbit at a county fair once.” “You get bit by everything. Focus—we load presents into a laundry basket and slip out the side door.” “Laundry basket? What if it breaks? I can’t carry that many wrapped boxes in my arms. I’ll drop half.” “I taped the basket’s handles. Stop overcomplicating. The only real risk is Lila’s grandma—she’s got a mean cane.” “Cane? I got whacked by a grandma with a cane for cutting in line at a bakery once.” “Then don’t cut in line. We’ll pretend to be cake delivery crew. I made fake uniforms.” “Fake uniforms? What if someone asks for a sample? I can’t bake a cake. I burned toast yesterday.” Molly slams her fist lightly on the table, pulling a roll of tape from her pocket to wave at him. She pushes the pie away, crossing her arms, while Bill picks up a discarded French fry and flips it back and forth between his fingers. The freezer’s hum swells, and Molly grabs her coat, standing to glance at the door. Bill shoves the uniform she slides him into his bag, still muttering. She pauses at the exit, glancing back to make sure he’s not forgetting the flier, her jaw set with the kind of determination that only comes from targeting sparkly-wrapped toys. Bill trips over the booth’s edge before catching himself, shoving the flier into his pocket as he stumbles after her. The diner’s waitress sighs, wiping a counter as they leave, unaware the pair’s grand heist hinges on taped baskets and fake snakes. (Word count check: Prose 250, dialogue 250, total 500. Comedic beats from Bill’s absurd past mishaps, Molly’s no-nonsense planning, heist target tied to kids’ party presents, two thieves, no markdown/commentary.)