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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1173 | 2016-07-09 12:27:20 | 70.35 | 99% |
| 912 | 2016-06-23 19:33:22 | 72.54 | 96% |
| 503 | 2016-06-10 18:47:34 | 63.61 | 95% |