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 |
---|---|---|---|
5532 | 2016-08-12 17:02:24 | 86.22 | 97% |
3762 | 2015-07-13 06:54:46 | 74.91 | 96% |
3045 | 2015-04-29 11:25:45 | 85.18 | 95% |