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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 9900 | 2024-03-07 16:06:03 | 102.41 | 98.3% |
| 9640 | 2024-02-06 09:58:53 | 102.92 | 98.2% |
| 2416 | 2019-03-31 15:34:58 | 97.04 | 98% |
| 1308 | 2016-02-15 18:05:22 | 93.87 | 97% |