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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1932 | 2015-11-06 03:56:43 | 115.76 | 98% |
| 1785 | 2015-07-09 06:54:49 | 116.59 | 96% |
| 1732 | 2015-05-07 07:54:47 | 113.82 | 97% |