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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 625 | 2016-10-22 19:09:05 | 85.05 | 93% |
| 387 | 2016-06-30 08:48:50 | 80.81 | 95% |
| 136 | 2015-08-05 16:22:12 | 61.95 | 90% |