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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1698 | 2017-04-26 16:12:12 | 97.86 | 89% |
| 988 | 2016-12-29 04:50:09 | 105.71 | 91% |
| 519 | 2016-12-09 13:15:08 | 107.81 | 93% |