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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1486 | 2017-06-16 21:32:48 | 102.61 | 97% |
| 1382 | 2017-06-14 04:23:22 | 100.69 | 99% |
| 733 | 2017-05-17 22:30:44 | 93.07 | 96% |