too much to do

Too much to do, but with only a grain of sand in which to do it.
Life, he goes out. He walks down the stairs, he walks down the street, down the lane, down the road. People are everywhere but no one notices anything. Everyone is their own. Some walk faster than others, some seem to have a purpose, some seem to just be walking for the sake of walking. Some have sat down on their steps, some with another who they talk to endlessly, some don't say a word. Certain people are very intent at getting somewhere, others have doublebacked. He doesn't know where he's going but he thinks it's best to walk down the street. He's afraid of the people and he's envious of them becuase they know what they are doing, or at least they look like they know what they are doing. So he stares down to not meet their eye and walks with a faux purpose and real embarrassment in his step. His foot drops down too quick for what seems to be normal, which he notices so he walks faster to make it seem more normal, but now he is agitated and it shows and he knows it shows so he trys to slow down.
He is breathing faster now. People who seem to tower over his head look down at him in quick glances, he quickens his pace once again and trys not to notice the world around him that doesn't know what to think of him. He wishes they wouldn't think of him at all, but secretly craves attention.
The light turns red. He stops, but he doesn't stop moving, he shifts his weight uncomfortably, constantly, endlessly. The light is long and he looks down at his feet. The light turns and he's off again at his pace with no graduality. He is at one moment stopped and the next at his fastest. He doesn't dare run but he wishes he could run forever to be away from all the people who he knows are looking at him, who are talking about him behind his back, who snicker or look concerned or give sympathetic smiles.
He never knows why.