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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1927 | 2025-03-15 03:17:22 | 83.18 | 95.4% |
| 1828 | 2025-02-12 02:19:06 | 93.12 | 97.2% |
| 676 | 2023-06-30 04:55:44 | 78.76 | 96% |