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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1430 | 2015-07-30 18:54:49 | 56.54 | 96% |
| 1131 | 2015-07-16 15:57:02 | 50.41 | 94% |
| 989 | 2015-07-07 18:24:19 | 52.11 | 93% |