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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1481 | 2017-03-20 04:03:13 | 69.44 | 95% |
| 1343 | 2016-05-20 04:18:27 | 69.38 | 95% |
| 1264 | 2015-11-23 04:51:33 | 71.49 | 96% |