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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 6979 | 2020-05-01 05:19:25 | 84.00 | 97% |
| 5700 | 2020-04-16 21:51:42 | 86.78 | 97% |
| 3183 | 2020-03-23 03:49:29 | 75.32 | 95% |
| 3093 | 2020-03-20 21:50:17 | 75.26 | 96% |