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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 7819 | 2019-10-20 08:25:48 | 87.76 | 96% |
| 7748 | 2019-10-18 00:51:19 | 91.22 | 96% |
| 7695 | 2019-10-16 23:48:56 | 78.74 | 95% |
| 4634 | 2019-06-13 01:48:24 | 92.78 | 97% |