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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 11943 | 2015-05-05 12:21:07 | 83.95 | 92% |
| 11932 | 2015-05-05 11:58:34 | 81.93 | 96% |
| 11720 | 2015-05-02 09:55:24 | 79.09 | 95% |