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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4508 | 2020-08-03 03:42:44 | 115.53 | 97% |
| 3198 | 2018-03-29 01:29:41 | 136.83 | 99% |
| 803 | 2017-05-11 23:55:30 | 126.06 | 97% |