Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFHS06BJ57FASQV82RFV9ZW

The mid-May sun beat down on Molly and Bill’s huddled forms, crammed into an overgrown azalea bush that shed tiny, sticky pink petals directly into Bill’s greasy mullet. Across the cul-de-sac, an inflatable T-Rex bounced in the driveway of 412, neon streamers strung from the gutters, a dozen screaming seven-year-olds chasing each other around a unicorn piñata propped by the front steps. Bill fumbled with his fanny pack, which bulged with a can of 2019-expired pepper spray, a half-eaten bag of gas station gummy bears, and a pair of night-vision goggles that glowed faintly even in broad midday light. He nudged Molly’s ribs so hard she bit her tongue on the granola bar she’d been sneaking, crumbs of oat sticking to her faded sweatshirt. “You sure the old man napping by the presents isn’t gonna wake up?” Bill whispered, swatting a mosquito that had landed on his neck. “Last time we tried to sneak past a grandma at a bake sale she clipped my ear with a rolling pin. I still hear high-pitched whistling when it rains.” Molly hissed, wiping granola crumbs off her jeans and peering around the bush’s branches at the gray-haired chaperone passed out in a folding lawn chair, a half-empty Michelob Ultra dangling from one hand, a three-foot stack of wrapped birthday presents teeming at his feet. “That was your fault for trying to steal a whole tray of cookies right off her table. Mr. Henderson over there’s only got eyes for the golf tournament on his garage TV. He’s out until the cake comes out, and even then, he’ll probably sleep through the birthday song.” “What about the clown?” Bill whispered, nodding at the man in a polka-dot suit twisting a balloon dog for a group of kids clustered at the far end of the lawn. “He looked at me real funny when we dropped off the fake Amazon package earlier. I think he’s onto us.” “That’s because you wore a ski mask to drop off a package, you idiot,” Molly muttered, checking her watch. The piñata’s stick-wielding birthday boy swung again, splitting the paper unicorn open, candy spilling across the driveway as every kid stampeded toward the mess. “That’s our window. Grab the whole stack, stuff ‘em in the minivan, and we’re out. Legos and those Sparkle Princess dolls go for twice retail, this score pays our rent for three months.” Bill shifted, his fanny pack catching on a thorny branch, and the whole azalea bush wobbled. The napping grandpa snorted, shifting in his chair, and both thieves froze, Molly pressing a hand hard over Bill’s mouth to muffle his yelp as a stray neon pink balloon floated over and landed on top of the bush, bobbing above their heads like a warning sign, just as a little girl broke off from the candy crowd, trotting toward the bush to retrieve her lost sparkly shoe.