Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAQMDVWM99CJB9CHMC3NVF

The linoleum of the diner booth stuck to Bill’s scuffed white sneakers as he shoveled cheese fries into his mouth, crumbs dusting the frayed cuffs of his faded denim jacket. Molly flipped a neon-pink princess party invite between her chipped black-nailed fingers, the paper crinkling softly—she’d stolen it from a bright blue mailbox down the street that morning, dodging a yapping Chihuahua in the process. “You sure this kids’ party heist is less risky than the pawn shop?” Molly said. “C’mon, kids don’t carry pepper spray—they carry juice boxes. What’s safer?” Bill replied. As Bill wiped grease from his chin with a crumpled napkin, he glanced at the invite’s cartoon castle, his eyes widening at the drawing of a giant stuffed unicorn in the corner. “The invite says ‘princess tea party for Lila, age 6.’ All presents are labeled, wrapped in sparkly paper. Easy to bag.” “Sparkly paper? I’ll blend right in if I wear my sequined cowboy hat—got it from the last garage sale heist.” “You will not wear that hat. We’re posing as party helpers. I made name tags: ‘Cupcake Helper Molly’ and ‘Balloon Helper Bill.’” “Balloon helper? I can’t tie a balloon without getting lightheaded from the helium.” The jukebox’s tinny children’s song faded, replaced by the clink of a waitress’s tray hitting a nearby table. “Then don’t inhale the helium. Focus on the back closet—presents are stashed there after they’re opened.” “Wait, opened? I thought we stole unopened. Unopened has better resale—no sticky finger smudges.” “Unopened are by the door for guests to drop off, but the parents move them to the closet mid-party. Less eye traffic there.” “What about the pinata? Can we steal that too? It’s full of candy—my cat loves sour worms.” Bill shifted in his booth, knocking over a ketchup bottle that oozed a thin red line across the menu. “No pinata. We’re here for the big presents: the electric scooter, the giant stuffed unicorn, the portable gaming console.” “Gaming console? I could keep that for myself—my old one broke when I tried to hack it to play dog agility videos.” “You will not keep anything. We split the proceeds 50-50. Now, timeline: arrive at 2 PM, help with cupcakes for 20 minutes, then sneak to the closet at 2:20 when the princess parade starts.” “Princess parade? What if they make me wear a tiara?” “Then you wear the tiara. Better to blend in than get caught.” “What about the dog? The invite says ‘Lila’s golden retriever, Max, will be in the backyard.’” “I brought beef jerky—Max will be busy chewing that while we work.” “Beef jerky? I packed gummy bears for myself—should I share with Max too?” “No. Save your gummy bears for the escape. We’ll use the side gate to haul the presents to the van.” Molly sighed, tapping her foot against the booth’s wobbly leg as she waited for Bill to stop staring at the invite’s unicorn. When Molly slid the crumpled backyard map across the table, a coffee stain blotted the edge where the side gate was marked with a red X. “Wait, the van—did you fill the gas tank? Last time we got stuck two blocks away because you forgot.” “I filled it. And I fixed the broken door handle you broke when you tried to hide a lawn gnome in there.” “Hey, that lawn gnome was rare!” “Focus. The party ends at 4 PM—we need to be gone by 3:30. Any delays, and the parents start cleaning up and noticing missing stuff.” “Fine. But if I have to wear a tiara, I get first pick of the stuffed animals.” “Deal. But if you mess up, I’m blaming your sequined cowboy hat.”