The breath of the morning, I keep forgetting the smell of the warm summer air. I live in a town where you can't smell a thing; you watch your feet for cracks in the pavement. Up above, aliens hover making home movies for the folks back home, of all these weird creatures who lock up their spirits, drill holes in themselves and live for their secrets...
| Game | Time | WPM | Accuracy |
|---|---|---|---|
| 602 | 2020-06-21 15:01:40 | 107.65 | 96% |
| 413 | 2020-06-06 14:30:34 | 104.56 | 96% |