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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 306 | 2016-01-06 14:07:16 | 109.06 | 95% |
| 112 | 2015-12-20 17:49:23 | 98.78 | 95% |
| 11 | 2015-12-09 14:10:07 | 104.14 | 96% |