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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 37374 | 2016-12-27 21:10:22 | 111.00 | 94% |
| 33044 | 2016-03-29 15:57:37 | 108.46 | 98% |
| 31905 | 2015-05-19 19:24:22 | 90.47 | 92% |