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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1848 | 2023-05-15 20:24:34 | 87.67 | 97% |
| 1237 | 2019-08-22 06:58:41 | 89.50 | 97% |
| 1125 | 2018-06-18 15:34:19 | 79.41 | 97% |