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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2931 | 2023-08-08 15:54:35 | 68.43 | 98% |
| 1835 | 2016-10-15 11:06:44 | 62.01 | 95% |
| 1461 | 2015-09-17 15:56:07 | 54.72 | 92% |