Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCQPRDQHVV80S7BMCBBR8N9

Molly spread the blueprints across the hood of the van, which was really just a laminated placemat from the pizzeria next door. "Bouncy castle here," she said, tapping it. "Piñata here. Presents stacked on the folding table, northwest corner, guarded by one grandmother." "Grandmothers are the worst," Bill said. "They've got instincts." "She's eighty-six and she's had two glasses of sangria." "Still. My gran caught me stealing a biscuit in 1994 and I've never fully recovered." Molly ignored him and slid a clown wig across the placemat. "You'll wear this. You're Boffo. You do balloon animals for eleven minutes while I load the wagon." Bill held the wig at arm's length like it might bite. "I can't do balloon animals." "Do a snake." "A snake's just a balloon, Molly." "Then they'll assume you're avant-garde." He sighed and jammed the wig on, listing slightly to the left. Molly checked her watch, then the sky, then the small red wagon they'd stolen that morning from a garden centre in Doncaster. "One rule," she said. "Nobody touches the cake." "Why not?" "Because we're thieves, Bill, not monsters." Bill nodded solemnly, honked a bicycle horn he'd produced from nowhere, and marched toward the garden gate.