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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 10298 | 2019-05-06 18:38:47 | 91.29 | 95% |
| 8202 | 2019-01-04 00:48:12 | 94.38 | 97% |
| 6064 | 2018-11-01 17:26:47 | 84.36 | 95% |
| 2243 | 2018-01-23 17:04:41 | 68.79 | 94% |