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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1269 | 2017-06-09 15:56:26 | 112.03 | 98% |
| 1210 | 2017-06-08 19:59:29 | 104.70 | 98% |
| 272 | 2017-05-16 20:36:35 | 111.04 | 96% |