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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1375 | 2017-05-14 01:45:46 | 69.76 | 88% |
| 1360 | 2017-05-12 22:52:08 | 68.75 | 88% |
| 122 | 2016-11-26 03:16:13 | 45.87 | 86% |