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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3782 | 2016-08-02 15:20:24 | 86.74 | 98% |
| 2527 | 2015-12-16 16:38:50 | 81.16 | 95% |
| 1926 | 2015-11-16 18:52:05 | 78.44 | 92% |
| 1281 | 2015-08-25 18:15:49 | 78.86 | 97% |