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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 8825 | 2019-10-20 08:25:40 | 103.91 | 99% |
| 6719 | 2017-12-15 09:23:13 | 97.82 | 99% |
| 1102 | 2016-05-19 10:48:49 | 93.41 | 100% |