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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 8710 | 2020-03-07 02:10:25 | 86.92 | 98% |
| 8157 | 2020-03-01 01:41:13 | 87.16 | 98% |
| 2779 | 2019-12-06 00:15:14 | 68.66 | 97% |