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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 6265 | 2016-08-17 14:39:58 | 65.26 | 89% |
| 5752 | 2016-06-30 12:06:54 | 75.18 | 95% |
| 5599 | 2016-06-06 12:37:41 | 70.28 | 95% |
| 5194 | 2016-01-06 13:29:17 | 58.50 | 91% |
| 4723 | 2015-07-09 14:56:35 | 58.19 | 91% |