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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 13822 | 2017-03-31 01:35:17 | 80.88 | 93% |
| 13522 | 2017-03-21 02:05:05 | 77.15 | 91% |
| 13309 | 2017-03-19 02:46:49 | 75.69 | 93% |