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 |
---|---|---|---|
610 | 2015-04-14 11:46:49 | 93.83 | 96% |
328 | 2015-04-06 11:32:47 | 86.96 | 94% |
184 | 2015-04-05 02:39:02 | 90.37 | 96% |