Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD7WEQ1V3E5AEBM6BGPA034

Molly spread the crayon-drawn blueprint across the getaway car's hood. The clown van idled behind them, squeaking every few seconds. Bill adjusted his oversized party hat, looking profoundly unhappy. "This is our lowest moment, right?" Bill asked. "Speak for yourself, birthday burglar. This is strategy," Molly said. The house ahead pulsed with screaming children and a failing bubble machine. A banner read TIMMY TURNS 6! "We're stealing from a six-year-old. Can't we rob a bank instead?" Bill whispered. "Banks have guards. Birthdays have cake. Focus," Molly replied. "What's the plan for the piñata? It's staring at me," Bill said. "You distract the clown. I grab the loot. Simple," Molly said. "I hate clowns. He knows we're not parents," Bill said. "Just say our kid's inside. Named Timmy. Looks exactly like you, but successful," Molly said. Bill stared at the pile of presents visible through the window, each wrapped in dinosaur paper that roared with commercial excess. He sighed deeply. "Okay, but if Timmy cries, I'm keeping the dinosaur. For emotional damages," Bill said. "Deal. If I cry, I get the cake," Molly said. Bill nodded bravely toward certain doom. "I love cake-based crime," Bill said. Molly folded the blueprint into a juice box. Very slowly indeed.