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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1606 | 2017-06-16 21:32:56 | 86.31 | 96% |
| 1256 | 2016-12-24 16:26:11 | 109.23 | 97% |
| 963 | 2016-10-15 13:25:11 | 95.64 | 92% |