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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 993 | 2015-04-28 21:12:00 | 79.49 | 96% |
| 892 | 2015-04-27 15:49:27 | 72.96 | 92% |
| 157 | 2015-04-17 20:06:32 | 75.55 | 94% |