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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2806 | 2016-04-17 12:06:06 | 100.23 | 95% |
| 2250 | 2016-02-27 14:26:02 | 99.06 | 96% |
| 1755 | 2016-02-09 13:02:45 | 98.43 | 97% |