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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2754 | 2016-11-11 23:22:09 | 60.06 | 95% |
| 2597 | 2016-04-08 23:22:19 | 54.86 | 99% |
| 1800 | 2015-04-22 16:18:34 | 56.46 | 95% |