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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1368 | 2016-02-13 19:31:13 | 61.29 | 93% |
| 1219 | 2016-01-25 03:39:50 | 64.38 | 94% |
| 886 | 2016-01-11 23:01:16 | 61.49 | 95% |