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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1263 | 2016-10-14 14:53:12 | 58.50 | 96% |
| 943 | 2015-08-03 20:53:00 | 51.90 | 95% |
| 640 | 2015-07-26 17:50:30 | 45.60 | 93% |