Run: 2026-10-05-01M46BEHVBMZ6Q8QP2TZQEEGE9

Molly unfolded a crayon drawing across the kitchen table. Bill studied its glittery perimeter with professional suspicion. Somewhere upstairs, their landlord was vacuuming to the tune of a funeral march. “The birthday girl is six, Bill. Six-year-olds have no concept of property. Everything belongs to them until somebody says otherwise. We are merely introducing otherwise, with bags. Educational bags. Think of us as visiting lecturers.” “I once stole a bicycle from a vicar and felt terrible for months. Children have sharper memories. Also, why does your plan feature a dragon? Is the dragon security? Because I draw the line there.” The dragon was actually a pony, according to Molly, who had never trusted perspective. She tapped a pink rectangle labeled PRESENTS. Bill moved his tea away from the criminal masterpiece. “The dragon is entertainment. We arrive as replacement entertainers. You juggle. I do balloon animals. While everyone applauds our dazzling professionalism, we announce that the presents must leave temporarily for their mandatory annual toy inspection.” “I cannot juggle. You cannot inflate balloons without getting dizzy. Last Christmas your balloon giraffe looked like a medical emergency. What happens when somebody asks why the inspectors are wearing matching shirts that say BURGLARS?” Molly glanced down at the shirts. They had been cheap because the printer had misspelled BURGUNDY. Neither thief had questioned the bargain until this inconvenient encounter with basic public relations. “We say it stands for Birthday Unit Responsible for Gift Logistics And Recreational Services. Nobody argues with an acronym. Especially parents. They're exhausted. Show them a clipboard and they'll surrender everything, including their car keys.” “And then what? We open forty parcels and discover thirty plastic unicorns, four sticker books, and something that screams when squeezed. Our fence specializes in jewelry, Molly. He won't buy a screaming something with batteries.” Bill picked up the invitation. Its cheerful lettering promised cake, face painting, and a surprise guest. Molly watched his expression change from skepticism to the particular terror associated with clowns. “The surprise guest is you. I've already volunteered you as Captain Giggles. Before you object, the costume has pockets. Enormous pockets, Bill. These are not trousers. They're a warehouse with knees. Consider the storage potential.” “My objection isn't about pockets. It's about dignity. Captain Giggles owes me money. We worked together once. He vanished with the takings and left me inside a horse. I'd rather face an actual dragon, frankly.” For a moment, neither spoke. Then Molly turned the invitation over. On the back, a small handwritten message waited beneath a smiling sun. Bill read it twice and sat down. “Please bring no presents. Donations welcome for the children's hospital. Well. That's inconvenient. There goes the entire business model. You can't burgle generosity, can you? It's intangible. And apparently very badly packaged for easy transportation.” “We'll go anyway. Take the balloons. I'll wear the trousers. We entertain them, eat some cake, and leave empty-handed. Except if Captain Giggles turns up, I'm stealing his wallet. Children's party or not, that's justice.”