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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1783 | 2017-05-23 20:13:29 | 88.84 | 96% |
| 1324 | 2015-05-15 14:03:15 | 87.54 | 96% |
| 1197 | 2015-05-01 18:48:05 | 80.11 | 94% |
| 677 | 2015-04-07 17:31:48 | 86.39 | 97% |
| 658 | 2015-04-07 15:13:46 | 80.61 | 93% |