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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 7163 | 2017-01-14 08:32:42 | 87.71 | 95% |
| 5053 | 2016-10-18 23:45:19 | 92.74 | 99% |
| 4321 | 2016-02-19 00:30:08 | 87.18 | 96% |