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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4567 | 2020-08-03 00:16:12 | 145.77 | 98% |
| 388 | 2018-11-20 22:02:25 | 120.69 | 96% |
| 132 | 2018-11-05 21:11:17 | 122.87 | 96% |