Run: 2026-09-23-01M37J0714SJMFQMEE1KSAQ1EW

Molly spread a crayon drawing across the café table. It showed a house, a tree, and seventeen purple balloons. “Who drew this?” Bill asked. “The birthday boy. He left it in the window of the bakery.” “That’s your floor plan?” “It’s an exterior view. He’s seven, not an architect.” Bill studied it. “Why is the tree wearing a crown?” “That’s the gazebo.” “Then why does it have branches?” “Artistic license.” The waitress set down two coffees and eyed the drawing. “Lovely picture.” “We’re helping with the party,” Molly said. “Clowns?” the waitress asked. Bill’s smile collapsed. “Apparently.” When she left, he leaned forward. “I agreed to steal presents. I did not agree to become a clown.” “You agreed to get inside. The clown canceled.” “Why?” “Balloon allergy.” “That’s not real.” “He said his throat closes when he hears squeaking.” Bill looked at the drawing again. “How many children?” “Twelve.” “Twelve witnesses.” “Twelve people who still believe a rabbit can fit in a top hat. We can handle them.” “And the parents?” “Distracted by cake. We perform a short act, collect the presents for a ‘surprise parade,’ and leave through the side gate.” “What surprise parade?” “The one we’ll be having in a van.” Bill took a cautious sip of coffee. “There’s a van?” “Of course. Do you think I’m carrying fourteen gift bags on a unicycle?” “Fourteen?” “Possibly fifteen. The grandparents are coming.” Molly turned the drawing over. On the back she had written a schedule in blue ink, beside a doodle of a smiling sun. “Why a sun?” Bill asked. “Because the pen leaked.” “That’s a cloud.” “It’s weather. Focus.” Bill traced a line with his finger. “Where’s the side gate?” “Beside the gazebo.” “You mean the tree.” “Bill.” “I’m just confirming our information.” At three, they arrived wearing striped shirts, red noses, and the strained expressions of people who had misunderstood the phrase children’s entertainment. Molly carried a collapsible cart. Bill carried a hat containing one visibly irritated rabbit. The birthday boy met them at the door. “Are you the funny clowns?” “We’re hilarious,” Bill said. “Prove it.” Bill looked at Molly. Molly looked at the rabbit. “The rabbit’s our manager,” she said. “He handles complaints.” The boy laughed and ran inside. “Tough crowd,” Bill whispered. “You got a laugh.” “I want a raise.” In the garden, Bill’s first balloon burst. His second floated away. Molly announced the surprise parade just as the rabbit escaped, scattering children toward the gazebo. “Get the cart,” she hissed. “Get the rabbit.” “Get both.” A grandmother appeared behind them, holding the rabbit and a plate of cake. “You two are marvelous. The children haven’t been this busy all afternoon.” “We aim to please,” Molly said. “Good. You can stay and help with the presents.” Bill’s hand froze on the cart. “Help unwrap them,” the grandmother added. Molly smiled. “Naturally.” Four hours later, they left with paper hats, leftover cake, and a party favor each: tiny plastic handcuffs. Bill held his up. “Appropriate.” Molly ate a bite of cake. “We still got presents.” “We got whistles.” “Mine lights up.”