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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2238 | 2020-10-23 14:31:28 | 78.36 | 97% |
| 1911 | 2020-10-19 11:31:03 | 77.23 | 96% |
| 538 | 2020-10-02 14:24:02 | 63.89 | 95% |