Run: 2026-03-25-01KMJ84BCBNM34GTXS6ZRT1M45

Rain tapped the rooftop of their cramped hatchback as Molly traced crayon-blue lines on a napkin—part floor plan, part fever dream. “Clowns are predictable,” Molly said. “They’re always eating cake or getting pied. We hit during the piñata.” Bill adjusted his sock puppet mask. “What if the kids see us?” “They’ll think we’re part of the act. ‘Look, Mommy, the raccoon’s stealing the Legos!’” “Raccoon? I spent twenty minutes on this!” “You wanted realism. Raccoons steal. It’s scientific.” “I feel typecast.” Molly flicked a chip crumb. “Sentimentality’s a liability. These presents have resale value. That Build-A-Bear could fund three fake mustaches.” “And glitter? Why is there always glitter?” “It’s psychological warfare. You’ll be sneezing through the getaway.” Bill frowned. “What if we get caught by a seven-year-old?” “Then you apologize with authority. ‘I’m sorry, sir, urgent toy redistribution.’ Now—bouncy castle or inflatable slide?” “Bouncy castle. Tactical bounce advantage.” “And the cake?” “Only if it’s chocolate. I have standards.” Molly tapped the napkin. “Distraction at 3:15. You honk the kazoo when the monkey puppet starts dancing.” “What monkey puppet?” “The one you're holding.” Bill looked down. “I’ve had this the whole time?” “Yes. And you’re wearing its pants.”