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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1570 | 2017-03-03 06:46:17 | 82.05 | 95% |
| 583 | 2016-10-13 12:16:43 | 76.67 | 97% |
| 508 | 2016-10-04 15:31:15 | 74.73 | 96% |
| 352 | 2016-09-29 11:57:04 | 72.12 | 94% |