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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 11161 | 2018-09-22 05:30:20 | 78.77 | 98% |
| 9897 | 2018-09-06 10:15:55 | 71.01 | 97% |
| 4221 | 2018-06-04 05:40:01 | 55.03 | 96% |