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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1691 | 2016-05-20 15:13:05 | 92.19 | 96% |
| 1306 | 2016-05-05 00:56:46 | 82.45 | 92% |
| 595 | 2016-03-26 20:47:21 | 80.87 | 95% |