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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 16813 | 2025-05-31 17:52:36 | 83.05 | 97% |
| 8633 | 2025-02-09 22:55:13 | 73.91 | 97.2% |
| 1435 | 2024-10-02 21:06:13 | 85.27 | 98% |