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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 9230 | 2016-01-17 00:11:45 | 116.10 | 95% |
| 7449 | 2015-07-29 06:26:16 | 114.50 | 96% |
| 6500 | 2015-06-17 02:11:37 | 114.13 | 97% |