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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1338 | 2016-05-09 21:45:43 | 85.76 | 93% |
| 1179 | 2016-04-25 21:53:17 | 87.66 | 95% |
| 18 | 2016-01-06 00:15:06 | 66.35 | 93% |