Route 48

The SEPTA Route 48 bus groaned and rattled as it crawled down Market Street, packed with commuters, students, and the occasional tourist who was deeply regretting their decision to experience "local flavor." The air carried the distinct scent of old vinyl, body heat, and a smuggled Wawa hoagie.

Carina Marie Delvecchio thrived in environments like this--crowded, chaotic, with an audience too captive to escape her theatrics. She stretched out on the sticky bench seat next to Zach, shifting just enough to make sure everyone could hear her.

"Babe," she began, her voice perfectly pitched to cut through the general hum of conversation and transit noise. "We need to talk about your dick."

A ripple of interest moved through the bus. Heads turned--some subtly, some blatantly. A guy in a Sixers hoodie smirked. A woman clutching a tote bag visibly tensed.

Zach, seasoned in the art of public humiliation by years of dating Carrie, sighed and stared out the window as the bus rattled past Reading Terminal Market. "Do we, though?"

Carrie gasped, pressing a hand to her chest like he'd just suggested burning the Constitution. "Oh, I'm sorry, do you not want to be celebrated?" She turned to a guy sitting across from them--probably a Drexel student, judging by the backpack and the exhausted, debt-laden stare. "Listen, I love this man. I adore him. But his dick? His dick is, like, the world's littlest guy."

The Drexel kid choked on his drink. A woman near the front closed her book and leaned in.

Zach sighed again, slowly, like he was regretting every life decision that had led him here. "It's not that small."

Carrie's eyes lit up. "Oh? Oh? Babe, if your dick were a dog, it'd be a teacup Pomeranian in a sweater. People would stop us on the street and go, 'Oh my God, it's so cute! Is it even real?'"

A grizzled old man in an Eagles beanie gave an approving nod. A woman in a puffy coat covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking.

"It's so small that the first time I saw it, I thought he just didn't have one. I was like, 'Oh, okay, maybe he reproduces through spores.'"

The front half of the bus exploded.

Zach rubbed his temples. "You're gonna keep going, aren't you?"

Carrie grinned. "Honey. I've barely started."

The bus lurched as it swerved past a double-parked Amazon van. Passengers tilted, gripping poles for balance.

"I mean, I'm not even saying it's a bad dick," Carrie continued, one hand painting the air, the other resting on Zach's knee like she was about to deliver a TED Talk. "It's adorable. It's the perfect size for when I wanna pretend I'm holding a fairy hostage."

A Flyers fan near the back wheezed.

"Carrie," Zach muttered.

"Oh, hush," she patted his leg. "You're a great boyfriend. Just a little... conservation-friendly. If dicks were SUVs, yours would be a Smart Car."

A woman near the front, who had clearly lived through some things, just muttered, "Goddamn."

Carrie pointed dramatically at her. "Exactly."

The bus rumbled past City Hall, William Penn towering above them in silent judgment.

A guy in an old-school Iverson jersey leaned over. "Yo, bro, you good?"

Zach, who at this point was purely resigned, exhaled. "I'm fine."

Carrie beamed. "See? He's fine. He loves this." She turned back to her audience. "My man is just thriving while I tell a packed SEPTA bus his dick is the limited-edition Matchbox Car of cocks."

Near the front, a couple of tourists looked ready to file a police report.

The bus lurched again, and Carrie, undeterred, leaned into it. "And listen, it's not like it doesn't get hard. Oh no. It does. It tries so hard. It just doesn't... accomplish much."

A young woman near the back let out a cackle. A man holding a SEPTA transfer ticket shook his head, grinning.

"But babe," Carrie cooed, voice suddenly mock-soothing, "I want you to know I respect you. And I want you to feel good. So I did some research."

Zach's brows pulled together suspiciously. "What... research?"

Carrie pulled out her phone, tapped it a few times, then held it up triumphantly. "Turns out, they make little tiny condoms now. For guys like you! It's like a Capri Sun for your cock!"

A guy in the back howled.

A woman in a Temple hoodie covered her face.

Zach finally turned to her. "You're Googling that in public?"

Carrie smirked. "This is Philly, babe. I guarantee someone on this bus has looked up worse shit in the last ten minutes."

A dude in a puffer jacket near the front slowly put his phone away.

Zach sighed for the millionth time. "How much longer is this ride?"

Carrie glanced at the window as the bus rolled past the Art Museum. "Few more stops. I can fit in at least two more minutes of material."

A collective wave of anticipation swept through the passengers.

Zach rubbed his face. "Fantastic."

Carrie patted his cheek condescendingly. "Aw, don't be mad. I'll make it up to you. Pizza's on me when we get home."

Zach muttered, "Thanks."

Carrie smirked. "Just try not to get too excited. Don't wanna use up all the blood flow on an erection no one can see."

The entire bus lost it.

And as the SEPTA Route 48 rumbled on, Carrie sat back, basking in the glow of her finest work.