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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 10738 | 2019-09-25 14:43:36 | 95.16 | 98% |
| 5479 | 2017-08-24 04:17:11 | 69.95 | 96% |
| 1583 | 2017-06-12 14:49:07 | 54.65 | 96% |
| 1171 | 2017-06-06 01:36:42 | 52.04 | 98% |