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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 5878 | 2016-10-21 18:37:27 | 91.32 | 96% |
| 4807 | 2016-06-06 02:52:18 | 86.66 | 95% |
| 4427 | 2016-04-25 02:30:53 | 87.55 | 95% |
| 3697 | 2016-04-01 23:14:21 | 80.63 | 93% |