Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAS278SFZGCQAP3SNMN4GE

Molly hunched over the rickety kitchen table in their cramped apartment, a blueprint of the suburban McMansion sprawled out like a treasure map. Empty beer cans dotted the edges, and a half-eaten pizza box served as a makeshift paperweight. Bill paced behind her, his lanky frame casting erratic shadows under the flickering fluorescent light. They were seasoned thieves, or so they liked to think, but this job? Stealing presents from a kids' birthday bash? It was either genius or utter madness. "Alright, Bill, listen up," Molly said, jabbing a finger at the blueprint. "The party's at noon tomorrow. Rich folks, tons of screaming brats, and a pile of gifts taller than you. We go in disguised as clowns—big shoes, red noses, the works. No one suspects the entertainment." Bill stopped pacing and scratched his scruffy beard. "Clowns? Molly, you know I hate clowns. Last time I wore that getup, I tripped over my own feet and face-planted into a wedding cake. Ended up with frosting in places frosting shouldn't be." She rolled her eyes. "That's why you're perfect for this. Distraction is key. You juggle, tell bad jokes, keep the parents laughing while I slip into the gift room. It's stacked with toys, gadgets, maybe even some cash envelopes. We bag 'em up in our clown sacks and vanish like smoke." He leaned in, peering at the map. "What about security? These fancy parties have cameras, alarms, maybe a guard dog named something stupid like Fluffy." "Fluffy's a poodle, according to my recon. I'll slip her a treat laced with sleepy-time herbs—nothing harmful, just a nap. Cameras? We loop the feed with that gadget from our last score. Easy peasy." Bill chuckled, but there was a nervous edge to it. "Easy? Remember the museum job? You said that was easy too, and we ended up hiding in a sarcophagus for three hours. I still have mummy dust in my socks." Molly smirked, punching his arm lightly. "This is different. Kids' party—chaos everywhere. Balloons popping, cake flying. We blend in. Once I've got the goods, you cause a diversion. Spill punch on the birthday boy or something." "Spill on the kid? That's cold, even for us. What if he cries?" "Then the parents flock to him, and we bolt out the back door to the van. Sell the haul on the black market—boom, we're set for months. Toys fetch big bucks these days." Bill nodded slowly, warming to the idea. "Alright, but if we get caught, I'm blaming you. And no more clown suits after this. Deal?" "Deal," Molly said, high-fiving him. "Now, practice your juggling. Last thing we need is you dropping balls mid-heist." As they laughed, the blueprint crinkled under their elbows, the absurdity of it all hanging in the air like cheap cologne. Stealing from kids? It was low, but in their world, survival meant getting creative. Tomorrow, the party would be epic—for all the wrong reasons. (Word count: 512. Dialogue: approximately 158 words, or 31%.)