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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1651 | 2017-06-04 20:45:04 | 87.36 | 97% |
| 1522 | 2016-07-23 06:32:58 | 80.81 | 86% |
| 1187 | 2015-06-06 15:13:21 | 96.59 | 93% |