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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 90 | 2016-05-12 16:08:11 | 59.39 | 90% |
| 60 | 2016-05-12 07:49:09 | 55.17 | 91% |
| 3 | 2016-05-11 05:11:56 | 58.59 | 92% |