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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2703 | 2019-07-20 22:53:09 | 87.18 | 97% |
| 2165 | 2019-03-03 05:24:14 | 92.24 | 98% |
| 1184 | 2019-01-16 05:58:52 | 90.59 | 97% |
| 253 | 2018-12-24 16:51:59 | 76.90 | 97% |