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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 283 | 2016-04-02 10:05:50 | 53.97 | 91% |
| 177 | 2016-03-23 12:43:50 | 53.42 | 92% |