Run: 2026-03-03-01KJTYNPPBZRMZ4QK7XMFTM9BZ

Molly and Bill huddled behind a hedge lining a sunbaked suburban backyard, strung with tinsel and drooping paper lanterns. A lopsided bounce house bobbed in the sticky July breeze, and the distant shriek of kids swatting at a piñata cut through the chatter of parents sipping lemonade on a peeling picnic table. Molly adjusted her crooked “Party Safety Supervisor” lanyard, tucking a stolen napkin stack into her frayed fanny pack, while Bill gripped a black trash bag so tight his knuckles whitened. A security camera glinted under the patio eave, and he darted a nervous glance toward the sliding glass door. “C’mon, saunter up, grab the wicker gift bin by the grill, and dip. Everyone’s fighting over leftover face paint tickets,” Molly hissed. Bill’s voice shook as he peered over the hedge: “Last fake caterer heist, you asked a toddler for a chili dog and we ran an hour through a cul-de-sac.” Molly waved a crumpled clipboard pilfered from a doctor’s office lobby: “This is foolproof. I’m here to pick up party supplies for the youth center. Just haul the craft scrap donation bag.” Bill squinted at the paper, then at her: “Your signature says Linda the Lunch Lady.”