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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1018 | 2016-09-10 19:14:08 | 58.61 | 85% |
| 951 | 2016-09-03 13:52:15 | 57.68 | 89% |
| 567 | 2016-08-08 19:49:27 | 52.96 | 85% |
| 153 | 2016-07-22 21:36:16 | 45.99 | 85% |