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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1355 | 2017-04-13 12:20:34 | 88.05 | 95% |
| 1272 | 2017-04-01 10:27:52 | 87.76 | 95% |
| 480 | 2016-06-25 15:38:22 | 68.26 | 90% |