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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 7146 | 2016-07-01 15:26:52 | 109.24 | 94% |
| 6895 | 2016-05-08 18:09:54 | 105.36 | 95% |
| 6650 | 2016-04-28 23:03:46 | 91.67 | 92% |