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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2305 | 2015-06-12 16:39:55 | 80.64 | 95% |
| 2131 | 2015-05-02 09:55:19 | 86.73 | 96% |
| 2062 | 2015-04-27 12:35:12 | 84.09 | 95% |