Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9CP9QCBZ4721S2KY2469P

Molly flicks a glitter-stick at Bill’s shoe. “Cakesicles. Unicorn piñata. A robot that growls ‘I hate broccoli.’” She grins. “All presents. All gone.” Bill adjusts his utility belt—stuffed with a lollipop and a glow stick. “And the *host*? She’s 8. She’ll melt if we sing ‘Happy Birthday’ off-key. ‘Hope your party’s *fun*… for us.’” Molly snorts. “You’re *terrible* at charm. Last time we stole a toaster, you complimented the mom’s ‘vintage lint collection.’” “Hey, she *did*.” He studies a cake. “Plan B: I distract with ‘magic’—make the piñata spit glitter. You grab presents before the parents notice. Simple.” “Simple? Bill, the robot’s *talking*. If it starts screaming ‘THIEF’ before we’re 10 feet away, you’re dead.” He holds up a tiny toy drum. “I brought *backup*. Noise-maker. Parent’s too busy checking the robot to see me.” He pauses. “You sure we’re not overcomplicating? What if we just… *ask* for the presents?” Molly gasps, clutching her chest. “Ask? Bill, we’re *professionals*. The kid will *beg* to give us a butterfly backpack full of Legos. Trust me—she’s already judging the balloons.” He sighs, smiling. “Fine. But if a 3-year-old cries, I’m blamming you.” “Deal.” She tugs his wrist. “Now c’mon. The ‘I Spy’ game starts in 2 minutes. We don’t have *time* to debate cake decorations.” Bill follows, muttering. “Distraction with *glitter*… this is why we’re cash poor.” Molly winks. “Cash poor? Honey, we’re *present* rich.” They slip through a hedge, cackling. The unicorn piñata hangs, unaware. (Prose: 68 words. Dialogue: 132 words. Total: 200)