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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2046 | 2016-05-24 23:05:40 | 97.47 | 98% |
| 1424 | 2016-05-13 20:05:20 | 92.98 | 98% |
| 701 | 2016-04-29 23:30:11 | 82.73 | 92% |