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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 5521 | 2019-02-23 17:12:27 | 82.62 | 96% |
| 2866 | 2017-11-10 01:39:27 | 58.17 | 94% |
| 2736 | 2017-11-04 01:16:35 | 60.57 | 94% |
| 1952 | 2017-06-26 04:06:19 | 60.00 | 95% |