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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1733 | 2016-07-23 12:45:39 | 59.61 | 93% |
| 1154 | 2015-08-16 07:30:21 | 66.58 | 93% |
| 831 | 2015-05-06 06:24:54 | 65.78 | 94% |