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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1375 | 2016-05-07 09:13:30 | 61.43 | 88% |
| 1014 | 2015-11-24 11:24:42 | 62.19 | 91% |
| 686 | 2015-09-21 09:14:03 | 62.33 | 93% |