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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1088 | 2015-12-08 16:56:25 | 57.63 | 93% |
| 1053 | 2015-12-04 16:50:05 | 55.68 | 94% |
| 938 | 2015-11-13 16:51:36 | 54.92 | 94% |
| 804 | 2015-10-23 15:52:36 | 52.91 | 93% |