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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 6619 | 2017-06-08 13:32:19 | 62.35 | 95% |
| 4833 | 2017-05-08 07:32:18 | 56.77 | 92% |
| 2233 | 2017-03-28 18:29:28 | 55.11 | 92% |