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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2557 | 2018-02-28 23:06:24 | 69.26 | 98% |
| 210 | 2017-06-14 18:24:07 | 65.01 | 98% |
| 123 | 2017-06-09 13:48:55 | 61.13 | 97% |