Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8N48VAXD79S9ZPN9AQDF2

Night had settled over Greenfield Park, the crickets tuning up like a badly tuned radio. A single streetlamp flickered above the empty pavilion, where a "Happy Birthday, Lila!" banner sagged, a stray balloon bobbing just out of reach. On a weathered bench nearby, Molly leaned forward, her gloved hands tightening around a roll of duct tape. Bill sat back, his fake mustache itching, a half-eaten cookie crumb stuck to his collar. “ You sure this is the right time? Kids have sugar comas by 7:30. Last week, that wedding we hit—” Bill began, nodding at the pavilion, where a cluster of kids with sticky fingers already clustered around a stack of presents. “ Relax, Billy. Sugar makes them hyper, hyper makes them easy. Lila's mom said no adults allowed at the gift table, so the babysitter's gonna be kneeling in glitter. I watched her from the maple tree for 20 minutes. She's got more focus on that TikTok than on the presents.” Molly adjusted a pair of goggles—too small for her head, they slipped down her nose. Bill fumbled with a lockpick in his pocket. “Lockpick's for the snack table. The presents are under a cloth. You think that cloth's gonna stop me?” Molly snorted. “Honey, the presents are wrapped in those crinkly paper with unicorns. You think I'm gonna pick a *unicorn* lock? We use the stroller trick. Lila's baby brother's in it—crying, probably. Perfect distraction. You stroll up, 'aww, poor guy,' and unzip his diaper. Hope you got the wipes—he peed on my sneaker last time.” Bill groaned, fishing a pack of baby wipes from his coat. “Last time was a *toy drive*, not a kids' birthday! This is a *raid*.” Molly grins, popping a lollipop from her pocket. “Semantics. The loot's the same—stuffed animals, crayon sets, that piñata's full of lollipops. We could start a side hustle: 'Molly & Bill's Tiny Thieves.' Call it 'children's excess redistribution.'” “ It's 7:23. The cake's gonna be split in five minutes. You think we can—” Bill began, squinting at his watch, when a voice boomed from the pavilion. “ Bill? Molly? Is that you?” Molly froze. Bill's mustache flops over his mouth. In the pavilion, Lila's mom stands, squinting. Molly yanks off her mask, revealing neon hair. Bill combs his hair with a pen—badly. “Oh! Uh—hi, Carol! We, um—we're here to drop off the piñata! The one with the *sparkly* unicorn horns. Right, Billy?” Bill nods so hard his mustache falls off. He scurries over, snatches it up. “Sparkly unicorn horns, Carol! Best $20 I ever spent. Not *stolen*. Donated.” Carol laughs, wiping her hands on her apron. “Well, come inside! The cookies are still warm. You two looked like you were... *planning* something.” Molly grabs Bill's arm, pulling him toward the pavilion. “Just *strategic thinking*! About how to make the piñata *extra* sparkly! Right, Billy?” Bill trips over a balloon, which blasts into the air, singing “Happy Birthday” in a tinny voice. Carol giggles as they stumble inside. Molly shoots a glance at Bill, which he returns with a death grip on the piñata. “ Next time,” she whispers, “we rob a *zoo*.” Bill nods, his mustache now askew. “Next time, we rob a *zoo*.” Inside, the kids scream as the piñata is handed over. Outside, the balloon deflates, hissing. Somewhere, a dog starts barking. Molly and Bill ignore it.