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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1432 | 2017-03-09 20:26:32 | 99.20 | 92% |
| 1412 | 2017-03-08 12:31:21 | 105.10 | 94% |
| 1406 | 2017-03-08 12:21:39 | 103.37 | 94% |
| 897 | 2017-02-11 14:17:31 | 111.34 | 95% |
| 3 | 2016-10-28 10:48:44 | 109.06 | 96% |