Once upon a time, there was a man named Alex who didn't put much stock in social niceties. He never bothered to remember people's names or make any effort to be friendly, even when it was genuinely important to do so.

Most people found him off-putting, and he never seemed to care. He had a singular drive to accomplish something great, and he didn't believe that anything should stand in his way.

As it happened, Alex was an artist. He had an unerring eye and steady hand, and he created works that were breathtakingly beautiful. He poured himself into his art, working tirelessly even when others told him to slow down.

Along the way, he lost friends and colleagues who grew tired of his single-minded focus on his own work, but he didn't let it bother him. He knew that his art was more important than any social connections he might have.

Finally, one day, he landed a major show at a prestigious gallery in the city, and his work was lauded by critics and collectors alike. His pieces sold for astronomical sums, and he became a bona fide sensation in the art world.

People from his past started crawling out of the woodwork, trying to mend fences and get back in touch with the man they had long ago written off as a self-centered jerk. But Alex didn't care. He knew that he had accomplished something major, something that would live on long after he was gone.

And so he continued to create, to pour himself into his art with abandon. He never regretted the social connections he had lost along the way, for he knew that his art was the most important thing he could give to the world. And in the end, he was proven right.