Run: 2026-07-01-01KWEA6VW85HJMCMTY6ETKATWT

The back room of Bill's apartment smelled like stale pizza and desperation, which felt about right for what they were about to do. "So let me get this straight," Molly said, tapping a photograph of a birthday cake shaped like a dinosaur. "You want to rob a six-year-old's birthday party." "Not rob," Bill said, offended. "Liberate. Those presents are gonna get destroyed by nine a.m. anyway. Wrapping paper everywhere, kids screaming, some little monster crying because he got socks. We're doing everyone a favor." "A favor. Right. And how exactly do two grown adults just waltz into a kid's birthday party without every parent in a fifty-foot radius calling the cops?" Bill grinned and pulled out two costumes from a duffel bag. One was a slightly moth-eaten dinosaur suit. The other was a clown costume with a wig so red it looked radioactive. Molly stared at them like they'd personally insulted her mother. "Absolutely not." "Come on, Moll, it's perfect! Kids love clowns and dinosaurs!" "Kids are also *terrified* of clowns and dinosaurs, Bill. Have you never seen a horror movie?" "That's exactly why nobody will question us! They'll just think we're the world's worst party entertainment!" Molly rubbed her temples like she was trying to physically massage away the migraine forming there. "Okay. Fine. Let's say I put on the dinosaur suit—which, by the way, smells like it died in 1987—how do we actually get the presents out without thirty kids and their parents noticing an entire dinosaur waddling off with a mountain of gift-wrapped boxes?" "Simple." Bill held up a finger like he was about to reveal the secret of the universe. "Piñata distraction." "A piñata distraction." "You smash the piñata, candy goes everywhere, every kid in that backyard turns into a feral raccoon fighting over Skittles. Total chaos. Nobody's watching the present table. That's when I make my move." "You. Mr. Clown. Casually strolling out with an armful of presents." "Exactly." "In front of forty parents." "They'll be distracted by the candy stampede!" "Bill. They will not be so distracted by a *piñata* that they don't notice a full-grown man in a clown suit stealing birthday gifts." Bill considered this for a moment, scratching his chin. "Okay, new plan. What if the dinosaur steals the presents instead?" "Why would that be less suspicious?" "Because dinosaurs are extinct, Molly. Nobody expects a dinosaur to commit grand theft." Molly stared at him for a long, silent moment, the kind of silence that usually preceded either violence or hysterical laughter. She chose the latter, collapsing onto the couch, wheezing. "We are going to prison," she finally said, wiping her eyes. "We're going to prison because of a dinosaur costume and a piñata." "Or," Bill said, holding up the clown wig triumphantly, "we're going to be rich, and mildly traumatize an entire neighborhood of children. Either way, it's a win." Molly grabbed the dinosaur suit, sighing the sigh of a woman who had clearly given up trying to have a normal life a long time ago. "Fine. But if I get recognized, I'm blaming you." "Deal."