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 |
---|---|---|---|
322 | 2017-01-10 00:08:09 | 86.70 | 91% |
311 | 2016-12-28 23:19:53 | 85.19 | 88% |
226 | 2016-12-10 07:12:29 | 77.50 | 91% |