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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2203 | 2017-09-23 13:03:53 | 83.75 | 99% |
| 1859 | 2017-09-01 17:02:54 | 80.80 | 98% |
| 1146 | 2015-04-25 10:07:28 | 73.46 | 94% |