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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4832 | 2016-04-27 14:03:08 | 74.80 | 98% |
| 1907 | 2015-06-30 10:42:45 | 56.87 | 97% |
| 720 | 2015-05-07 14:31:03 | 36.25 | 85% |