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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2791 | 2016-10-18 22:29:08 | 84.27 | 89% |
| 1295 | 2016-07-19 04:16:04 | 70.97 | 90% |
| 1107 | 2016-07-13 01:30:17 | 76.24 | 92% |