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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1162 | 2016-03-14 02:18:20 | 96.91 | 95% |
| 413 | 2015-05-02 02:04:31 | 80.53 | 92% |
| 138 | 2015-04-27 02:55:34 | 80.42 | 93% |
| 119 | 2015-04-26 06:38:12 | 82.78 | 92% |