Run: 2026-03-09-01KK9Q9M8V7W4J180N6WP4FB48

Molly peered through the hedge at the garden, where balloons bobbed like nervous witnesses and a clown made tragic animals out of balloons. “Bill, this is the lowest point in my criminal career, and I once robbed a mime.” “Correction,” Bill whispered, adjusting his velvet cap. “We are liberating unappreciated toys from sticky-fingered aristocrats under four feet tall.” “Those are six-year-olds, not dukes.” “Look at that bouncy castle. Nobody poor owns one.” Molly eyed the gift table, a mountain of wrapped boxes beside a pink banner reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY, EMILY. “We go in as entertainers?” “With these faces? We’d terrify the pony.” “Then parents. Grim, exhausted, impossible to identify individually.” “Perfect. I can carry a casserole dish. Respectable people always carry casseroles.” “And I’ll look disappointed in everyone.” “Natural talent.” “Just smile warmly and don’t mention your record around the toddlers.” From the patio came shrieking laughter, the sound of sugar discovering its constitutional rights. Bill unfolded a map that appeared to be mostly gravy stains. Molly sighed, tightened her gloves, and watched Emily whack a piñata with the joyous fury of a tiny tax collector. Beyond her, the presents gleamed in the sun, innocent, plentiful, and almost certainly battery-operated.