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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 5767 | 2019-12-17 05:25:11 | 81.33 | 97% |
| 4043 | 2015-09-07 08:42:28 | 56.59 | 92% |
| 3066 | 2015-04-27 06:56:24 | 67.89 | 95% |
| 2799 | 2015-04-19 13:23:51 | 60.64 | 92% |