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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 12916 | 2020-09-11 11:27:02 | 71.07 | 96% |
| 11248 | 2019-01-14 07:45:13 | 65.52 | 96% |
| 6363 | 2017-11-24 11:56:59 | 58.19 | 96% |
| 3182 | 2017-08-04 16:59:47 | 52.57 | 96% |