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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1130 | 2015-12-18 09:16:42 | 97.55 | 94% |
| 133 | 2015-11-26 03:15:00 | 92.59 | 96% |
| 54 | 2015-11-26 01:54:18 | 86.84 | 94% |