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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1635 | 2017-06-12 14:43:08 | 78.49 | 98% |
| 921 | 2016-02-09 20:16:49 | 73.64 | 95% |
| 365 | 2016-01-21 16:28:02 | 64.38 | 95% |
| 345 | 2016-01-21 14:05:27 | 74.17 | 97% |