Woke up to another one of Tyrone's late-night emails. This one was a three-page poem about the 'scent of my skin.' Honey, the only thing my skin smells like is the new perfume I bought with the money I saved by not buying you drinks anymore. It's called 'Independence.' Notes of citrus, a hint of leather, and a finish that smells like 'I'm over you.' Maybe you should bottle your tears and sell them as a new cologne. 'Eau de Desperation.' It'd be a bestseller among your fan club of one.