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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3757 | 2017-11-28 06:10:32 | 77.27 | 97% |
| 3589 | 2017-11-07 05:06:04 | 77.90 | 97% |
| 1732 | 2017-06-03 02:48:13 | 76.52 | 96% |