Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8WQD6DC18NBZJQ6A4A5XC

The neon glow of the party store’s sign flickered like a dying firefly as Molly adjusted her oversized sunhat, the kind grandmas wear to hide their bald spots. Bill, perched on the fire escape outside the second-story window, kicked his legs like an overcaffeinated spider. “You sure this is the place?” he whispered, though the question was more for the sake of conversation than actual doubt. The building was a shrine to plastic toys and sugary chaos, the kind of place where parents left their wallets at the door and their guard dogs at home. Molly squinted through the binoculars she’d “borrowed” from a birdwatcher last week. “Positive. The invite said ‘12:30 sharp,’ and it’s 12:29. Also, I may have bribed the birthday kid’s older brother with a fake Pokémon card that says ‘This is a limited edition’ in crayon.” Bill groaned. “That’s not bribery, that’s fraud.” “Semantics.” Molly tapped her watch. “Here’s the plan: We go in like we’re late guests, grab the presents, and bolt before the cake is cut. No alarms, no parents, just pure, unadulterated holiday theft.” Bill’s foot slipped off the ledge. “What if there’s a piñata?” Molly’s eye twitched. “Then we improvise.” The window creaked open just enough to let in the scent of glitter and artificial snow. Inside, the party was in full swing—balloons bobbing like drunk jellyfish, kids shrieking over a mountain of wrapped boxes, and a single, very confused clown attempting to juggle cupcakes. Molly and Bill slipped in like shadows, blending in with the chaos. “Okay, new plan,” Bill muttered, already eyeing the towering stack of presents under the tree. “We grab everything, run, and hope the clown doesn’t notice.” Molly nudged him toward a table where a parent had left their purse unguarded. “First, we need distractions.” She plucked a whoopee cushion from a pile and slapped it onto the clown’s chair. The clown sat. The whoopee cushion farted. The room erupted. “That’s not a distraction, that’s a war crime,” Bill hissed, but he was already diving for the presents, stuffing them into a duffel bag like a raccoon on a sugar high. Molly grabbed a handful of wrapped boxes and bolted for the door, only to skid to a halt when a tiny voice piped up behind her. “Excuse me, are you the ice cream lady?” She turned to see the birthday kid, a wide-eyed angel in a superhero cape, holding out a dollar bill. “Uh. No?” “But you have presents!” The child’s face scrunched in confusion. “Are you stealing them?” Bill, mid-escape, froze. “We are *redistributing* them.” Molly shot him a look. “We’re *borrowing* them.” The kid nodded sagely. “Okay. Can I come with you?” Bill’s eye twitched. “Absolutely not.” Molly sighed, scooped the child up, and whispered in his ear, “You’re coming with us, but only because you’re cute.” The kid grinned, completely unaware that his new friends were about to make a run for it with his entire birthday haul. As they burst out the back door, the clown’s voice echoed behind them: “HEY! THAT’S NOT HOW THE PIÑATA WORKS!” Bill glanced back. “I *told* you we should’ve checked the piñata first.” Molly adjusted her hat and sprinted down the alley, the kid giggling in her arms. “Next time, we hit a *baby shower*,” she panted. “Less chaos, more pastries.” Bill groaned. “I hate my life.”