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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1424 | 2016-12-17 01:55:14 | 65.44 | 97% |
| 944 | 2016-05-03 09:16:44 | 55.33 | 94% |
| 480 | 2015-08-25 21:57:42 | 53.98 | 93% |