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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4013 | 2018-01-04 12:03:46 | 99.91 | 99% |
| 2129 | 2017-12-17 10:45:15 | 84.42 | 98% |
| 1498 | 2017-12-12 18:15:02 | 88.74 | 98% |
| 598 | 2016-05-09 03:31:43 | 85.39 | 94% |