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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 359 | 2017-08-18 21:28:47 | 91.85 | 97% |
| 142 | 2016-01-13 11:30:09 | 96.48 | 98% |
| 39 | 2016-01-06 00:14:57 | 75.52 | 88% |