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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 11841 | 2018-03-04 11:25:56 | 153.96 | 99% |
| 8591 | 2016-06-23 05:42:12 | 163.61 | 95% |
| 7238 | 2015-04-10 06:08:23 | 186.67 | 100% |
| 7183 | 2015-04-09 06:25:03 | 160.71 | 95% |