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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3136 | 2017-09-12 12:24:12 | 78.40 | 98% |
| 814 | 2016-09-01 06:50:08 | 76.64 | 96% |
| 372 | 2016-08-11 10:39:24 | 72.25 | 97% |
| 36 | 2016-07-20 11:14:43 | 72.85 | 98% |