Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KS02B2YAFR6W90RTBEBJ1G

The community center smelled like sugar and desperation, which Molly considered a perfect combination for a job. She sat on a milk crate behind the dumpsters with a clipboard, studying the flyer for Timmy's Seventh Birthday Bash. Bill arrived late, dragging a stroller that was definitely not for a baby. He parked it carefully and lifted the blanket. Inside was a pile of costumes, a fog machine, and a suspiciously large number of air horns. Molly didn't look up. She tapped the flyer with a pen. The party was in the main hall, doors locked at seven, parents would be busy with cake and the inevitable sugar crash, and Timmy's presents would be piled in the corner under a pink plastic tablecloth. Perfect. Bill pulled a pair of bunny ears from his pocket and tried them on. They slipped down over his eyes. He took them off. "You're serious about the stroller," he said. "I'm serious about not carrying a duffel bag of toys through a parking lot full of minivans," Molly said. "The stroller is camouflage. You ever seen a grandma not help push a stroller?" "I've seen a lot of things," Bill said. "None of them involved me wearing a name tag that says Hi I'm Bill." Molly finally smiled. "It's a volunteer. Timmy's mom is begging for volunteers to watch the kids while the parents eat. We get in free, we get a table, we get unsupervised access to the present pile for twenty minutes." Bill frowned at the flyer. "It says supervised at all times." "By Mrs. Henderson who is sixty-eight and has a lumbar support pillow and a plate of deviled eggs," Molly said. "She's been at every PTA meeting for thirty years. She will not notice us." He considered the fog machine. "What if the presents are wrapped? We can't just dump them in the stroller." "We're not stealing them like professionals," Molly said. "We're stealing them like parents. We take a few, we leave a note, we cry. No one questions crying at a birthday party." Bill laughed. "You have a note?" She flipped the clipboard. There was a printed card that read Sorry we have to run, Timmy is an amazing kid, love Aunt Carol and Uncle Pete. Signed in glitter pen. "That's terrible," he said. "It's believable," she said. "We need an exit window. The back door by the kitchen stays propped open for the caterers. I scoped it yesterday. There's a loading dock, no cameras, and a very fat raccoon that will distract anyone who comes looking." Bill adjusted the bunny ears again. "And the kids?" Molly stood up and brushed crumbs off her knees. "Kids are a feature, not a bug. They'll be in the bounce house or doing the piñata. They won't remember two adults in costumes taking a bag of presents. They'll remember the weird adult who let them have extra cupcakes." Bill sighed and pushed the stroller forward. The wheels squeaked. "Fine. But if I get caught, I'm telling them you made me do it." "Deal," Molly said. "And if we get caught, we tell them we're performing a social experiment on consumerism." They walked toward the side entrance, the stroller wobbling behind them, the air horns faintly rattling with every step.