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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 11546 | 2025-04-10 15:40:29 | 105.56 | 96% |
| 7149 | 2020-06-03 17:08:22 | 108.41 | 95% |
| 6833 | 2019-07-13 21:15:45 | 118.66 | 97% |
| 4737 | 2019-06-05 15:50:13 | 97.39 | 96% |