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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3302 | 2016-02-13 18:30:37 | 73.80 | 95% |
| 3107 | 2015-12-05 18:47:14 | 75.14 | 90% |
| 2881 | 2015-08-15 19:50:34 | 66.26 | 93% |