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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 9391 | 2016-04-06 06:14:42 | 65.93 | 93% |
| 9371 | 2016-04-05 10:20:22 | 66.63 | 93% |
| 7513 | 2015-08-17 15:33:26 | 73.26 | 97% |
| 7118 | 2015-08-03 08:27:30 | 61.16 | 94% |