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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3947 | 2016-01-19 07:28:56 | 65.98 | 89% |
| 3935 | 2016-01-19 06:49:41 | 73.38 | 93% |
| 3655 | 2015-08-19 04:08:40 | 70.23 | 92% |
| 3614 | 2015-08-16 06:54:36 | 67.51 | 93% |