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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 9865 | 2016-06-19 23:27:39 | 66.20 | 91% |
| 9788 | 2016-06-03 21:05:02 | 81.30 | 92% |
| 9461 | 2016-04-09 18:47:28 | 76.77 | 93% |