Run: 2026-09-23-01M36SPPMP4GX09QDDX62M28XM

Molly peered through a hedge that smelled like wet dog and cancelled plans. Beyond it, the Henderson birthday sprawled across the lawn, an inflatable castle slumping as if it already regretted the invitation. Bill had parked the van half on the curb and half on his conscience. On the dash sat a grocery receipt he had labeled TARGETS, the letters so proud they nearly punched through the paper. Cupcakes. A red scooter. Three boxes in dinosaur wrap. They had brought no gloves, no map, and no excuse a reasonable adult would accept. Squeals drifted over the fence, chased by one heroic kazoo. A clown dropped the cake. Molly decided the universe was already cooperating. Bill tapped the wheel. They had agreed, in the solemn way of a meeting held in a ditch, that presents left on a picnic table were unattended and therefore negotiable. "Front door or the castle?" Molly asked. "The castle," Bill said. "Fewer witnesses with dignity." "If a parent sees us?" "We are the entertainment." She nodded, which passed for their whole strategy, and lifted the kazoo she had stolen from a yard sale back in 2009, already ready to announce a small crime nobody had scheduled.