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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 952 | 2015-09-28 04:44:03 | 99.80 | 95% |
| 682 | 2015-09-24 11:20:46 | 95.62 | 95% |
| 551 | 2015-09-12 11:12:24 | 87.87 | 92% |