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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3130 | 2017-02-01 21:18:35 | 62.60 | 94% |
| 1499 | 2016-11-10 15:59:45 | 46.56 | 86% |
| 1294 | 2016-11-05 22:39:38 | 54.10 | 93% |