Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCPQWE0N8ZW7SEH8W9RYRHP

Molly spread the crayon drawing across the hood of the van. "That's the layout. Bounce house here, snack table here, presents stacked by the gazebo." "Where'd you get a map from a six-year-old?" "I told her I was a birthday inspector." Bill scratched his jaw. "And she believed you?" "She asked for my badge. I showed her a sticker." "Molly, these are children's presents. Coloring books. Squeaky things." "Timmy Ashcroft's father owns half the marina. Last year the boy got a pony." "You can't fence a pony." "You can if the pony's got papers." Molly rolled the drawing up and stuffed it in her jacket. "We go in at two, during the piñata. Nobody watches anything during a piñata. It's chaos, Bill. Blindfolds, sticks, sugar." "And the parents?" "Wine." Bill nodded slowly, which was how he agreed to things he'd regret. "What's my job?" "You're the clown." "Absolutely not." "You've got the shoes already." "Those are orthopedic." "Nobody's measuring." She tossed him a red foam nose. "Make three balloon animals, then head for the gazebo. If anyone asks, you're Bongo." Bill turned the nose over in his hands like a grenade. "Bongo." "Bongo the Beloved." "I want forty percent." "You want a pony." He put the nose on.