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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 331 | 2016-10-27 01:14:30 | 86.27 | 89% |
| 269 | 2016-05-14 22:48:02 | 102.50 | 92% |
| 244 | 2016-04-17 00:59:01 | 98.16 | 90% |