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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1713 | 2016-08-13 13:26:09 | 58.84 | 94% |
| 1576 | 2016-08-10 05:50:30 | 58.11 | 94% |
| 1513 | 2016-08-04 12:57:13 | 58.95 | 95% |