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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2750 | 2024-02-06 12:13:44 | 90.60 | 97% |
| 999 | 2018-10-28 17:40:10 | 95.45 | 97% |
| 536 | 2018-04-03 14:33:33 | 80.62 | 96% |