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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4872 | 2019-07-31 22:25:41 | 92.79 | 98% |
| 4595 | 2019-07-20 22:53:14 | 79.42 | 96% |
| 2744 | 2018-09-08 04:12:46 | 95.46 | 97% |
| 1375 | 2018-06-28 06:45:50 | 65.90 | 95% |