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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2053 | 2016-04-27 11:29:19 | 65.61 | 91% |
| 1688 | 2016-04-02 07:32:28 | 62.53 | 93% |
| 1591 | 2016-04-01 08:58:31 | 68.12 | 95% |