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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 707 | 2015-08-09 12:54:38 | 73.84 | 92% |
| 677 | 2015-08-08 13:31:45 | 74.96 | 97% |
| 203 | 2015-06-11 10:57:13 | 53.27 | 89% |