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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2043 | 2018-08-20 11:22:47 | 108.47 | 98% |
| 1311 | 2016-04-06 06:14:18 | 102.24 | 96% |
| 1155 | 2016-03-19 05:48:18 | 88.91 | 91% |
| 21 | 2015-07-12 07:42:00 | 74.40 | 91% |