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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 9100 | 2019-10-02 13:33:34 | 116.56 | 98% |
| 7159 | 2019-04-09 14:35:01 | 107.39 | 98% |
| 5032 | 2019-01-24 13:03:39 | 113.51 | 99% |
| 4789 | 2019-01-09 11:14:52 | 118.14 | 99% |
| 4219 | 2018-12-11 17:19:24 | 104.63 | 97% |