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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1012 | 2017-05-17 05:17:45 | 85.45 | 93% |
| 845 | 2016-11-25 03:36:07 | 88.26 | 96% |
| 689 | 2015-08-06 09:14:43 | 85.17 | 93% |