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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1317 | 2017-01-12 02:02:04 | 67.52 | 93% |
| 1201 | 2017-01-08 03:03:29 | 67.26 | 90% |
| 1144 | 2016-12-30 23:54:11 | 68.58 | 90% |
| 271 | 2016-09-26 13:43:26 | 60.88 | 89% |