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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4012 | 2017-06-12 15:05:24 | 53.44 | 97% |
| 3507 | 2015-08-12 06:03:15 | 59.47 | 93% |
| 3433 | 2015-08-10 05:50:19 | 63.32 | 93% |