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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 41508 | 2016-06-25 07:15:19 | 94.40 | 94% |
| 40747 | 2015-11-23 13:16:05 | 98.69 | 95% |
| 38535 | 2015-04-08 01:46:40 | 99.35 | 96% |
| 38266 | 2015-04-05 04:08:16 | 104.01 | 97% |