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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1664 | 2016-04-14 18:03:24 | 82.26 | 92% |
| 1144 | 2015-10-27 15:48:23 | 70.85 | 89% |
| 532 | 2015-06-21 06:27:01 | 70.25 | 90% |
| 286 | 2015-06-15 18:59:54 | 72.27 | 93% |