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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 9137 | 2018-10-25 07:39:59 | 109.94 | 97% |
| 7827 | 2018-04-10 12:18:10 | 114.71 | 97% |
| 2588 | 2016-05-25 13:41:29 | 116.13 | 95% |