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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 814 | 2016-01-04 18:20:14 | 98.28 | 97% |
| 572 | 2015-12-31 16:27:39 | 88.13 | 94% |
| 87 | 2015-12-17 15:12:11 | 79.27 | 94% |