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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2596 | 2015-08-17 21:54:50 | 52.75 | 93% |
| 2033 | 2015-07-11 02:41:09 | 57.02 | 97% |
| 1776 | 2015-06-26 02:56:26 | 54.91 | 96% |