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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 198 | 2016-01-11 15:59:56 | 51.20 | 90% |
| 195 | 2016-01-11 15:55:36 | 54.03 | 94% |
| 37 | 2016-01-01 18:57:48 | 53.13 | 92% |