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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1332 | 2015-10-04 22:44:47 | 71.16 | 91% |
| 1152 | 2015-09-25 01:53:36 | 71.05 | 94% |
| 122 | 2015-07-07 07:34:36 | 65.71 | 94% |