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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2571 | 2017-05-29 09:42:52 | 62.28 | 95% |
| 2338 | 2017-03-30 09:35:04 | 66.56 | 96% |
| 585 | 2016-03-03 21:44:59 | 48.83 | 91% |
| 460 | 2016-02-03 01:13:22 | 43.42 | 91% |