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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4978 | 2015-06-02 06:42:27 | 73.97 | 94% |
| 4970 | 2015-06-01 08:21:58 | 71.09 | 95% |
| 4703 | 2015-04-17 08:15:31 | 66.35 | 93% |