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 |
---|---|---|---|
3559 | 2016-02-22 17:23:50 | 131.65 | 97% |
2335 | 2015-04-12 12:18:16 | 132.26 | 94% |
2059 | 2015-04-11 17:15:09 | 123.75 | 95% |