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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4447 | 2019-04-15 00:36:33 | 163.56 | 99% |
| 3201 | 2019-03-12 22:43:31 | 167.43 | 99% |
| 1979 | 2019-02-20 03:51:18 | 154.77 | 99% |