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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2273 | 2016-05-15 15:15:41 | 99.56 | 93% |
| 2144 | 2016-05-05 02:16:41 | 104.71 | 93% |
| 139 | 2016-02-01 01:53:56 | 87.46 | 93% |