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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 867 | 2017-08-25 22:56:44 | 113.36 | 98% |
| 719 | 2016-09-13 22:38:49 | 118.01 | 93% |
| 418 | 2015-08-27 18:26:03 | 109.65 | 93% |
| 77 | 2015-04-25 13:54:54 | 99.50 | 92% |