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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 6146 | 2017-09-22 19:25:29 | 102.36 | 99% |
| 4789 | 2017-08-26 22:12:01 | 93.97 | 98% |
| 4458 | 2017-08-23 18:20:18 | 95.19 | 98% |