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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1277 | 2016-08-09 15:36:00 | 55.33 | 96% |
| 1171 | 2016-07-28 12:59:18 | 47.43 | 95% |
| 642 | 2016-06-13 17:17:43 | 49.35 | 94% |
| 162 | 2016-05-23 20:11:17 | 49.71 | 96% |