Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1GFXXACNCZVVJR3TXJ5MX5

Molly and Bill crouched behind the florist’s van, staring at the suburban fortress ahead: a garden full of bunting, shrieking children, and a clown so cheerful he looked legally suspicious. Through the hedges they could see a mountain of brightly wrapped presents piled beside a plastic throne where the birthday boy sat wearing a paper crown and the expression of a tiny emperor. Molly unfolded a crayon-scribbled map stolen from the community noticeboard. Her eyes gleamed with professional greed. Bill adjusted his black wool cap, which made him look less like a master thief and more like a nervous chimney sweep at a funeral. “Too many balloons,” Bill muttered. “Balloons are not security,” Molly said. A magician wandered past the gate, pulling scarves from his sleeve while a terrier chased his ankles with religious fury. Near the patio, a woman in a ladybird costume arranged cupcakes with military concentration. Every route to the presents involved crossing open lawn, dodging sugar-hypnotized children, and possibly surviving the clown. Bill peered again. “What if they see us?” Molly smiled, producing two cone hats and a gift bag containing absolutely nothing. “Then we become disappointing relatives.” From inside the party came the crack of a piñata and the wild roar of small people discovering violence as a hobby. Molly took a breath, straightened her hat, and marched for the gate, with Bill wobbling behind her like regret in sensible shoes.