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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1423 | 2018-01-05 06:07:04 | 90.04 | 99% |
| 1002 | 2016-09-27 17:53:00 | 80.51 | 97% |
| 358 | 2016-04-21 03:59:34 | 67.16 | 97% |
| 129 | 2016-04-05 01:05:53 | 64.99 | 97% |