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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1679 | 2017-06-26 12:29:29 | 62.82 | 98% |
| 1278 | 2016-08-16 22:34:44 | 58.57 | 96% |
| 513 | 2016-06-14 12:28:50 | 46.67 | 96% |