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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3244 | 2017-08-24 16:24:47 | 101.18 | 97% |
| 1159 | 2016-02-11 16:31:26 | 91.72 | 93% |
| 849 | 2016-02-04 02:26:04 | 87.09 | 93% |
| 553 | 2016-01-27 14:44:36 | 87.87 | 93% |