I was stealing saltshakers again. Ten, sometimes twelve a night, shoving them in my pockets, hiding them up my sleeves, smuggling them out of bars and diners and anywhere else I could find them. In the morning, wherever I woke up, I was always covered in salt. I was cured meat. I had become beef jerky. Even as a small, small child, I knew it would one day come to this.
| Game | Time | WPM | Accuracy |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4049 | 2020-08-05 16:19:20 | 96.90 | 97% |
| 2921 | 2020-04-09 22:07:19 | 95.41 | 97% |
| 412 | 2017-03-26 09:42:39 | 60.14 | 90% |