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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3320 | 2017-02-13 03:34:17 | 77.95 | 90% |
| 3115 | 2017-01-21 19:54:59 | 80.55 | 95% |
| 2068 | 2016-08-23 01:09:03 | 67.70 | 93% |
| 572 | 2016-02-10 17:47:58 | 54.41 | 89% |