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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3307 | 2016-04-07 13:00:29 | 61.54 | 90% |
| 3234 | 2016-01-12 20:45:07 | 72.02 | 95% |
| 3095 | 2015-12-29 14:12:19 | 67.00 | 91% |
| 2543 | 2015-06-15 18:59:56 | 70.03 | 88% |