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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4844 | 2017-11-02 19:12:30 | 70.69 | 98% |
| 3664 | 2017-06-19 19:03:02 | 66.38 | 98% |
| 3468 | 2017-06-04 08:23:46 | 65.19 | 98% |