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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1933 | 2016-05-20 09:48:15 | 59.61 | 91% |
| 1519 | 2015-11-03 11:36:17 | 68.01 | 94% |
| 1508 | 2015-10-31 10:10:07 | 58.48 | 90% |