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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2008 | 2016-11-04 11:43:25 | 98.76 | 95% |
| 1410 | 2016-10-20 12:02:19 | 96.41 | 98% |
| 891 | 2016-10-07 15:15:43 | 101.04 | 97% |