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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 8467 | 2017-09-21 13:03:41 | 106.66 | 99% |
| 7593 | 2015-06-28 12:00:28 | 91.13 | 91% |
| 7411 | 2015-04-19 12:02:48 | 108.82 | 96% |