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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1226 | 2018-01-20 09:13:14 | 68.39 | 94% |
| 765 | 2016-12-15 08:00:43 | 66.33 | 90% |
| 130 | 2016-10-22 12:28:59 | 66.21 | 90% |