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 |
---|---|---|---|
1856 | 2016-08-10 10:56:40 | 129.71 | 98% |
1411 | 2016-07-11 09:11:25 | 132.19 | 100% |
817 | 2016-06-20 08:22:41 | 106.04 | 95% |