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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1280 | 2017-08-29 23:16:44 | 79.23 | 99% |
| 856 | 2017-08-21 22:57:36 | 75.47 | 98% |
| 133 | 2017-07-27 01:36:56 | 75.81 | 99% |