Chris Byrd paragraph

Meric could be a prickly friend—curt, dismissive, and oblivious towards social niceties. He was as unlikely to ask after one’s wellbeing or the state of one’s relations as the guy serving you a court summons. He didn’t expect to hear from you regularly, nor was he prone to just checking in. A few years ago, he'd gotten hit crossing the street by one of those evangelical bicyclists and wound up with a mandibular dislocation and two broken ribs. He dissuaded his friends from visiting him in the hospital, claiming he preferred to recuperate on his own. As infuriating as his grumpiness could be, there was something calming about him like a sand dune. He was no flatterer—his sympathies had tangible value. He‘d been known to joke that he was a termite in the social network.