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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3692 | 2019-03-29 09:35:44 | 45.61 | 95% |
| 2541 | 2016-09-10 09:08:44 | 49.41 | 95% |
| 2087 | 2016-07-12 17:19:45 | 50.36 | 92% |
| 2086 | 2016-07-12 17:18:00 | 44.92 | 90% |