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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3086 | 2019-09-18 13:48:50 | 111.63 | 98% |
| 644 | 2016-07-08 22:59:55 | 110.91 | 96% |
| 403 | 2016-05-24 12:01:38 | 105.62 | 96% |