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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 6970 | 2019-08-19 09:07:44 | 91.39 | 99% |
| 3734 | 2016-11-20 20:46:27 | 66.19 | 92% |
| 1833 | 2016-08-30 10:44:55 | 51.91 | 87% |
| 1716 | 2016-08-29 06:48:35 | 53.20 | 92% |
| 1535 | 2016-08-24 07:12:57 | 46.60 | 84% |