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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 929 | 2016-07-24 16:50:32 | 79.83 | 93% |
| 486 | 2016-01-10 06:13:15 | 73.08 | 95% |
| 404 | 2015-12-31 18:16:22 | 67.05 | 93% |