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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 89 | 2016-10-26 05:24:36 | 68.05 | 95% |
| 84 | 2016-10-04 06:19:20 | 65.91 | 97% |
| 69 | 2016-07-24 03:12:31 | 67.69 | 97% |