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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1857 | 2015-10-15 14:10:28 | 45.25 | 92% |
| 1666 | 2015-09-28 09:00:47 | 52.00 | 97% |
| 1211 | 2015-08-18 14:18:59 | 48.34 | 93% |
| 763 | 2015-05-09 11:20:59 | 45.28 | 97% |