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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 6551 | 2017-12-04 17:27:16 | 76.57 | 98% |
| 4764 | 2015-11-19 00:37:19 | 72.37 | 96% |
| 4195 | 2015-09-03 23:08:16 | 67.77 | 95% |