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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1758 | 2016-09-29 13:53:57 | 66.97 | 93% |
| 1233 | 2016-07-11 17:17:34 | 59.53 | 92% |
| 991 | 2016-04-28 15:50:15 | 54.91 | 90% |
| 584 | 2016-02-15 14:28:10 | 51.64 | 94% |