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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3469 | 2016-06-24 00:22:19 | 54.48 | 93% |
| 2127 | 2015-05-31 23:41:51 | 48.22 | 89% |
| 1583 | 2015-05-06 01:08:11 | 47.42 | 93% |
| 992 | 2015-04-04 20:41:48 | 41.33 | 91% |