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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1074 | 2018-03-30 10:47:04 | 77.42 | 98% |
| 112 | 2016-07-07 12:34:43 | 65.91 | 94% |
| 72 | 2016-05-31 11:09:03 | 75.28 | 95% |