A speaker stuck at a red light suddenly feels how small they are. The pause is ordinary, but it opens up a bigger thought: everything passing by is part of someone else's life. The blurred cars, the radio preacher, even the tiny passengers on a far-off airplane each carry a whole story, and the speaker is not in any of them.
The feeling is a mix of awe and loneliness. The speaker is waiting for "the world to make sense again," which suggests they already feel a little unsteady, and this realization doesn't settle that. The repeated "each" and the doubled "teeny-tiny" make the world feel crowded and endless, while the plain, quiet final line, "in which i am nothing," lands like a drop. The lowercase "i" and the lack of punctuation add to the effect, making the speaker seem small and the thought unfinished. The mood is reflective and a bit hollow, a moment of stillness where the speaker sees how many lives exist without them.