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 |
---|---|---|---|
607 | 2016-05-03 15:52:07 | 76.96 | 93% |
554 | 2016-04-30 05:52:29 | 50.74 | 85% |
169 | 2016-02-12 15:17:36 | 59.03 | 85% |
43 | 2016-01-19 00:37:39 | 59.08 | 88% |