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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 609 | 2017-01-02 09:41:01 | 92.82 | 94% |
| 145 | 2015-12-27 18:09:33 | 53.30 | 91% |
| 46 | 2015-12-18 13:24:17 | 52.48 | 87% |