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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 744 | 2015-09-28 09:00:37 | 59.12 | 88% |
| 689 | 2015-09-16 16:14:22 | 54.37 | 88% |
| 402 | 2015-05-01 13:12:16 | 54.13 | 91% |
| 226 | 2015-04-19 10:23:38 | 46.08 | 90% |