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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4314 | 2017-06-22 15:51:14 | 100.51 | 97% |
| 3690 | 2017-06-11 22:19:37 | 108.09 | 98% |
| 3142 | 2016-12-19 02:41:43 | 115.45 | 97% |