Run: 2026-09-23-01M36T906HXS8MT0T2ZWJSW3RA

Molly leaned over the diner table and stabbed a fry into the ketchup like it had personally offended her. "Bill, we are not stealing a bouncy castle. We are stealing presents. Wrapped ones. The shiny kind." Bill nodded, solemn as a man accepting a medal. "Right. Presents. I just thought the castle would slow them down. Kids love castles. They'd be bouncing. We'd be gone." "They would also be screaming," Molly said. "Screaming is loud. Loud is bad. Bad is us in a parking lot explaining ourselves to someone with a clipboard." "Clipboards are scary," Bill agreed. "Okay. No castle. We go in, we get the pile, we leave. Simple." "Nothing with you is simple. Last time you brought a grappling hook to a bakery." "The donuts were on a high shelf." Molly closed her eyes. "The party is at two. Backyard. Balloons on the gate. A cake shaped like a dinosaur, according to the invitation you stole off a refrigerator." "I borrowed it," Bill said. "Temporarily. With my eyes." "You took a photo of a magnet. That's not borrowing. That's you being weird at a stranger's fridge." "The magnet had a schedule. I like schedules. Two o'clock, cake. Two-fifteen, presents. Two-thirty, someone cries because they got socks." Molly pointed at him. "We arrive at two-ten. We look like we belong. You carry the gift bag. I do the talking. If anyone asks, we are Aunt Linda and Uncle Dave from out of town." "I don't look like an Uncle Dave." "You look like a man who loses arguments with vending machines. It'll do." Bill frowned at his milkshake. "What if a kid asks me what I got them?" "You say it's a surprise." "What if they guess?" "They will guess a pony. You say no." "What if it is a pony? In one of the boxes. A small one." "Bill." "I'm just saying, morally, a pony changes things." Molly rubbed her temples. "There is no pony. There are toys, and sweaters, and one tragically optimistic board game. We take the pile, we put it in the van, we drive away before anyone notices the table looks sad." "And if someone notices?" "We apologize and leave faster." "That's your whole plan? Apologize?" "It's worked on you for six years." Bill considered this, then brightened. "What about a distraction? I could start a conversation about dinosaurs. Kids love dinosaurs. I know three facts." "You know one fact and two rumors." "Still. I talk. You grab. We meet at the van. If I get stuck, honk twice." "If you get stuck talking to children about dinosaurs, I am leaving you there and telling the van it was adopted." Bill gasped. "You wouldn't." "Try me." They sat with that. A bus hissed outside. Bill stole another fry. "Fine," he said. "Two-ten. Gift bag. You're Linda. I'm Dave. No castle. No grappling hook. No pony ethics." "And no improvising." "I don't improvise." "You improvise constantly. You improvised a mustache last month." "That was a disguise." "It was syrup." Bill touched his upper lip, wounded. "It was commitment." Molly stood, dropping cash on the table. "Commitment is showing up, taking the presents, and not adopting a dinosaur cake on the way out. Can you do that?" "Probably." "Bill." "Yes. Probably yes." She sighed, already walking. "Close enough. Don't be late. And if you bring the grappling hook, I'm making you explain it to the birthday child yourself."