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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4731 | 2020-03-01 12:22:55 | 71.90 | 96% |
| 4343 | 2020-02-24 08:21:38 | 68.33 | 97% |
| 1652 | 2019-10-21 13:37:19 | 65.66 | 97% |