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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 102 | 2016-03-25 20:36:52 | 87.75 | 94% |
| 15 | 2016-03-10 06:54:10 | 79.66 | 93% |
| 7 | 2016-03-10 06:46:01 | 80.00 | 96% |