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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1428 | 2017-07-12 14:37:14 | 58.51 | 98% |
| 788 | 2017-06-13 14:36:16 | 53.17 | 97% |
| 137 | 2017-05-01 18:32:41 | 48.91 | 94% |