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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4568 | 2017-05-20 07:14:51 | 60.38 | 88% |
| 2961 | 2017-03-16 16:09:25 | 71.30 | 92% |
| 1650 | 2017-01-19 17:04:03 | 62.00 | 91% |
| 399 | 2016-12-26 23:27:30 | 53.79 | 91% |