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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 10037 | 2019-05-21 19:48:28 | 80.96 | 97% |
| 5245 | 2018-04-03 17:21:50 | 69.62 | 95% |
| 315 | 2018-01-26 19:29:01 | 59.72 | 96% |