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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 859 | 2017-01-04 03:33:47 | 115.45 | 97% |
| 403 | 2015-06-08 15:24:26 | 100.41 | 95% |
| 133 | 2015-06-04 15:46:13 | 99.68 | 96% |