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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2554 | 2017-02-14 19:46:52 | 83.32 | 91% |
| 2404 | 2017-02-12 08:28:56 | 85.65 | 89% |
| 1296 | 2017-01-14 08:32:42 | 88.09 | 93% |