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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2657 | 2020-07-30 15:49:30 | 66.96 | 97% |
| 2072 | 2019-03-13 21:46:28 | 59.20 | 97% |
| 1596 | 2018-12-07 12:27:50 | 47.72 | 94% |