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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1879 | 2016-05-01 18:46:20 | 96.74 | 91% |
| 1665 | 2016-04-22 19:57:29 | 105.84 | 93% |
| 1525 | 2016-04-17 00:58:59 | 104.94 | 95% |
| 964 | 2016-03-10 20:55:24 | 116.26 | 97% |