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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2597 | 2016-05-05 19:52:30 | 106.59 | 96% |
| 1740 | 2015-08-11 16:07:56 | 92.16 | 96% |
| 1477 | 2015-08-02 22:12:39 | 98.06 | 97% |
| 543 | 2015-07-13 14:35:43 | 85.02 | 94% |