Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KRA90Y25NYBDX6PDAHFAEX

Molly spread the flyer across the kitchen table like it was a blueprint for the Louvre. The paper showed a pink plastic castle, a banner that read LILY TURNS SEVEN, and a very helpful map of the cul-de-sac with a big red X on 14B. She tapped the X with a pen cap. Bill peered over her shoulder, still in his pajama pants and a reflective vest he claimed was for night jobs. He sniffed the air and asked if she had finally started baking again. She had not. The smell was stale coffee and the faint chemical tang of the air freshener she sprayed to cover it. She pointed to the time on the flyer, three to six, cake at four thirty. She pointed to the presents table under the patio awning. Bill whistled. He had been in houses, banks, museums, but never a backyard with a bouncy castle. He said the bounce was a problem. The noise was a problem. The parents were a problem. Mostly the kids. Molly said the kids were the best part. She had watched a birthday party from the hedges last month. Once the music started and the pizza arrived, the adults stopped watching the door. They watched the sugar crash. Bill asked how they were getting in. Molly said the back fence was lattice, easy to see through, easier to climb. She had already cased it on Tuesday while walking the dog she did not own. The presents would be on folding tables near the grill, unwrapped, unguarded, and tagged with names in glitter pen. He said glitter pen was a trap. It gets everywhere. She said that was why she liked it. No one would notice a few extra hands in the chaos. They would need a bag, two bags, and a story for the exit. She had a story. Bill leaned in. He wanted the story. Molly told him she was volunteering as a balloon animal lady. She had bought a neon pink wig and a certificate she printed at home that said Certified Fun Engineer. Bill said that was a lie. She said it was a cover. The plan was simple and terrible. Arrive at three forty five, just before the chaos peaked. Molly would work the line, making dogs and swords while Bill mingled with dads holding beers. At four twenty they would both slip to the gift table. Bill would lift from the left, Molly from the right. They would stash the haul in a laundry basket covered with a towel. Bill asked what about Lily. Molly said Lily would be busy blowing out candles. He asked what about the parents. She said the parents would be busy taking photos and arguing about who forgot the ice. He said it felt wrong. She said stealing from corporations felt wrong until the money was in their hands. Stealing from children felt wrong until they remembered children outgrow toys in a week and the parents just wanted the mess gone. Bill sighed and reached for the flyer. He folded it neatly and put it in his pocket. He said fine, but if a kid cries he was blaming her. She said she would bring extra balloons for cover. He said he would bring the basket. Outside the window the streetlights flickered on. Somewhere a sprinkler hissed. Molly wrote BALLOONS on a spare tote bag in sharpie. Bill wrote STOLEN PRESENTS on the bottom of the basket in case they got confused.