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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 500 | 2021-02-23 23:54:24 | 97.32 | 97.8% |
| 225 | 2020-02-27 04:14:04 | 82.13 | 96% |
| 105 | 2016-12-09 15:31:18 | 68.24 | 92% |