Barry Allen was extremely bored. He was dodging bullets shot by some inane bank robbers who thought they could shoot the Flash, and it bored him. The bullets were so slow to Barry. They seemed to almost stand still in the middle of the air. He grabbed the bullets out of the air, took the robbers' guns, and handcuffed them before anyone could blink. Barry ran out of the bank as quick as he'd come and was gone before the people he'd saved even knew that they'd been saved. He ran throughout Central City saving as many people as he could. Barry caught a girl who had fallen off of a bridge. He brought her to safety and was off like a shot. He knew that she probably wanted to thank him, but everyone talked to slow for him. Barry wanted to know the people he saved, but they moved much too slowly for him.
Barry had read in a lot of books that time kept rushing by, that time flew, but to Barry, time was moving much too slowly. Ever since that fateful night in his laboratory, Barry had considered himself to be the lonliest man alive. He lived out entire lives in the time it took someone to tell him their name. So he had given up on socializing. Barry was happy that he could help people and save their lives, but still, he wished he had gone home early the night he was struck by lightning. Even if he could, Barry wouldn't go back in time and keep himself from gaining powers. The people whose lives he saved matter more than his desire for companionship. So, he would just have to wait for calamity to strike in an instant, the only thing almost fast enough for him.