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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4050 | 2017-01-28 20:20:22 | 84.40 | 94% |
| 1437 | 2016-12-29 01:20:16 | 79.21 | 94% |
| 1076 | 2016-12-25 16:31:17 | 70.55 | 90% |