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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 813 | 2016-12-20 10:26:16 | 98.36 | 94% |
| 772 | 2016-11-02 08:30:34 | 92.34 | 94% |
| 109 | 2016-05-23 08:06:38 | 74.01 | 88% |