Run: 2026-04-25-01KQ2DJT080NCS78J8TYAVN6VW

Molly squinted at the crudely drawn map on the napkin, its “X” marking the bounce house where the presents would be piled. Bill, meanwhile, was wrestling his head through the neck hole of a rented unicorn costume, the horn lolling sadly. The plan was elegant in its stupidity. He’d be the “surprise entertainment,” reduced to jingling a tambourine to mask the sound of her crawling through a gift-wrap tunnel. She tapped the napkin. “So you’re the unicorn, I’m the silent gift-worm.” He nodded, his face flushed inside the fur. “Exactly. Festive and invisible.” The horn flopped over his eyes, and he blew at it unsuccessfully, a puff of air ruffling the napkin. She pictured him trying to shimmy presents out of the pile under his costume while she slithered through a cardboard chute designed for toddlers. “What if a kid hugs you?” she asked. He paused, considering. “Disguise the loot as a piñata and run,” he wheezed, the costume’s fan having died. The sheer absurdity hung between them, a perfect, doomed masterpiece.