Run: 2026-09-23-01M36RFJ5DZ555NHR9ZZWT79TS

Rain tapped the laundromat window while Molly spread an inked party map across a table sticky with ancient gum again. “The party begins at six; the presents will be unattended.” Molly whispered. “I have disguises: one cheerful clown nose and two mustaches.” Bill nodded. “Children notice everything, especially adults behaving like suspicious furniture today.” Molly frowned. “I’ll be a coat rack; you can be moonlight tonight.” Bill grinned. “Our getaway van is parked behind the inflatable castle outside.” Molly tapped. “Excellent. Its engine only starts when someone sings opera backwards.” Bill saluted. “We take every present, then donate them to ourselves quietly.” Molly sighed. “What if a child asks why Santa’s helpers look nervous?” Bill blinked. “Tell them we’re seasonal auditors checking ribbon compliance and taxes.” Molly murmured. “And if they offer us cake, we maintain professional focus.” Bill agreed. Between them, a toy catalogue served as blueprint, its pages marked with arrows, snack hazards, and escape routes. Bill wore a lampshade for reconnaissance; Molly carried a sack embroidered PEACE ON EARTH, tactically misleading. Upstairs, children practiced a birthday song, each note wobbling like a frosting siren. They exchanged nods. The dryer thumped, and both thieves mistook it for applause.