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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 151 | 2016-03-09 08:42:14 | 58.83 | 89% |
| 91 | 2016-03-08 15:26:05 | 46.14 | 82% |
| 24 | 2016-02-16 00:56:02 | 49.20 | 82% |