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 |
---|---|---|---|
541 | 2016-06-05 10:20:05 | 56.53 | 92% |
400 | 2016-06-04 08:49:34 | 59.98 | 93% |
362 | 2016-06-04 07:13:27 | 52.85 | 90% |