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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3434 | 2019-01-12 01:00:50 | 145.29 | 98% |
| 765 | 2018-02-08 15:42:14 | 126.04 | 99% |
| 353 | 2016-03-29 02:24:59 | 101.83 | 91% |