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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 6015 | 2019-09-27 17:16:39 | 160.61 | 99% |
| 379 | 2016-01-09 12:21:32 | 129.66 | 87% |
| 68 | 2015-12-16 14:31:19 | 139.58 | 92% |