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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3584 | 2019-10-18 14:51:02 | 48.16 | 94% |
| 2155 | 2019-08-29 22:39:33 | 54.22 | 94% |
| 1927 | 2019-08-22 13:39:44 | 50.52 | 95% |
| 20 | 2019-07-17 20:07:51 | 46.36 | 94% |