Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD6B0EFPKHYMCV4BP4FK378

Molly unfolded a crayon blueprint across the dashboard while Bill parked beside a bouncy castle shaped like a patriotic boot. Beyond the fence, thirty presents glittered under a banner celebrating Luca, age six, emperor of juice. “Catering uniforms,” Molly said. “We swap gifts for potatoes.” “Potatoes?” Bill whispered. “At a child’s party?” “Organic. Ethically disappointing.” A clown honked past wearing suspenders and menace. Bill clutched the wheel. “I feel bad. Kids remember faces, balloons, trauma.” “Relax. We leave one present.” “Which?” “The drum set. Justice demands witnesses suffer.” Molly checked her mustache in the mirror. “You create diversion: tragic balloon giraffe, emotional speech about gluten. I crawl under the gift table.” “On grass? That’s crawling, not heisting.” “Crawl like burglary is beneath you.” Bill produced two juice boxes of gin. “If caught, we were invited.” “By whom?” “Luca. He looks connected.” The birthday boy marched out in a paper crown, pointing at their van like a tiny detective with cake evidence. Molly ducked. Bill waved back, committing the felony of friendliness. “New plan,” she hissed. “Grab bags, blame clown.” “Which clown?” “All clowns are one clown legally.” They leapt out, tripped over the castle, apologized to a magician, and escaped with three yo-yos, a plush subpoena, and deep respect for Luca’s security stare.