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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3071 | 2016-11-19 06:23:17 | 65.42 | 91% |
| 2811 | 2015-11-09 05:15:09 | 65.70 | 92% |
| 2592 | 2015-07-22 07:12:41 | 63.61 | 92% |