It was an ordinary morning coffee in hand, earbuds in, half-asleep commuters boarding the bus one by one.
Then he stepped on.
Not a man in black. Not a shadow.
An actual Black Panther calm, composed, and way too cool for rush hour.
The driver blinked. The passengers froze.
And the panther? He just walked down the aisle like he had a valid ticket and somewhere to be.
He found a window seat, settled in with his tail curled neatly beside him, and gazed out like a seasoned city traveler. No growling. No chaos. Just quiet presence and a whole lot of respect from everyone onboard.
No one dared sit next to him not out of fear, but reverence.
Because let’s be honest: if a black panther rides the bus, you let him.
Was he heading to the jungle gym? A poetry slam? A rooftop jazz bar? No one knew, and no one asked.
Every stop became suspenseful.
At 7th and Pine, he turned his head.
At Main and Grove, he stretched.
And finally, at an unknown corner shaded by trees, he stood, flicked his tail, and stepped off without a word.
The bus drove on. But something had changed.
People sat up straighter. Looked out the windows more.
Because once you share a ride with a Black Panther, no commute is ever “just a commute” again.
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