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 |
---|---|---|---|
1535 | 2016-03-04 15:11:26 | 63.00 | 94% |
1031 | 2016-01-14 21:32:58 | 54.06 | 94% |
231 | 2015-06-27 21:38:25 | 49.21 | 93% |