Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB4MW1GJP5X3GVHX52P2F4

The living room smelled like stale popcorn and bubble gum, courtesy of a half-chewed "Dancing Dingo" chew toy tucked behind the couch. Through the smudged window, a sea of tinfoil balloons bobbed above a sea of wailing toddlers, all converging on a table heaped with wrapped presents the size of shoeboxes. Molly perched on the edge of a rickety armchair, her finger traced a water stain shaped like a question mark. Bill, propped against a bookshelf holding a tattered *National Geographics*, adjusted a pair of cat-eye glasses he’d stolen from a Target. “Kids’ party,” he said, as if explaining gravity. “Security’s—*[he snapped fingers]*—about as tight as my grandma’s knitting. Grandma’s knitting, y’know? Sure, it’s got a hole the size of a punch card, but *my cat* could’ve snuck through that hole.” “Grandma’s got a walker,” Molly said, deadpan. “And she’s been staring at the sliding glass door since 6:17. I saw her adjust her wristwatch *twice*.” Bill squinted. “Watchers. *Weaknesses*. We don’t care about watchers. We care about *loot*.” He pointed at the presents, his tone turning reverent. “Star Wars Lego. A unicorn bike helmet. *Lip gloss*. Worth more than the last four safes combined. Plus, think of the *story*—‘Two Thieves Steal Toys, Not Hearts.’ The papers’ll love it.” Molly sighed. “‘Two Thieves Get Outsmarted by a Piñata’ is more the headline. Remember the petting zoo heist? You tried to ‘distract’ with a goat. It spit at the security guard.” “Goats have *attitude*,” Bill said, indignant. “Last time, we were tired. This time? We’re *on*. I’ve got a plan: I’ll pose as the clown from ‘Clarence the Magic Pony,’”—he pulled a frayed red wig from his pocket—“and you’ll be the ‘party fairy’—” he held up a tulle skirt, also stolen—“and we’ll *distribute* presents. Once the room’s chaos, we grab the *heavy* boxes, dip. Boom. No alarms. No cops. Just—” “—a room full of kids screaming because their Lego set’s gone. And a grandma with a walker who’ll chase us down. I remember the *zoo* heist,” Molly said, sliding off the chair. “You taught the goat to ‘steal’ a purse. It stole a *sandwich*.” “Sandwiches are *food*,” Bill said, but he was already grinning. He tossed the wig onto the couch. “Fine. Spies. We’ll be spies. I’ll sneak in through the AC vent—” he knocked on the wall “—you circle the backyard, cut the power, so the TVs go black. Kids panic, parents check phones, you grab the presents. I’ll grab the loot. We meet at the dumpster in ten. Deal?” Molly considered. The window was fogged with her breath. She tapped the glass. “What if the power goes out *and* the grandma notices me? She’s got a walker, but those things *fly* when you steal her grandbabies’ gifts.” Bill feigned a gasp. “Then I’ll be the clown. We’ll *dance* for the kids. Clowns *rule* the panic.” He started bouncing, wiggling his hips. “‘Clarence the Magic Pony’ makes balloons *foam*! Watch—” he dragged a sock from his pocket and popped it like a bubble. It made a *fizz* sound. Molly laughed, half exasperated. “You’re an idiot.” “An *idiot* with a plan,” Bill said, serious now. He tossed her a pair of latex gloves. “Come on. The unicorn helmet’s *begging* to be stolen. And if we get caught? We’ll blame the piñata.” Molly put on the gloves. The tip of her finger stuck to the latex. She ripped it off. “We *will* get caught.” Bill winked. “We *won’t*. Now c’mon. The toddlers are starting to eye the good presents. I saw one reach for a box that’s *definitely* not for him.” Molly grabbed the tulle skirt. “You’re on.” They slipped out the door, the smell of popcorn trailing after them. Through the window, the grandma adjusted her watch again, unaware. The sliding glass door creaked open. Inside, a toddler with a blue balloon let out a shriek. “Chaos!” Bill whispered. “Now move!” (Word count: 500) (Dialogue: ~250 words, 50%.)