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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 755 | 2015-07-02 00:17:45 | 91.60 | 95% |
| 579 | 2015-06-29 23:21:07 | 92.45 | 93% |
| 158 | 2015-06-16 23:02:46 | 100.68 | 93% |