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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 9326 | 2020-08-13 07:51:55 | 61.28 | 97% |
| 6675 | 2016-10-28 19:43:07 | 66.22 | 97% |
| 5686 | 2015-12-02 07:47:45 | 61.06 | 97% |
| 5148 | 2015-08-17 21:54:39 | 61.03 | 96% |
| 4965 | 2015-07-20 16:29:24 | 53.59 | 94% |