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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 5496 | 2017-03-21 02:05:25 | 57.44 | 89% |
| 5399 | 2017-01-08 03:03:31 | 65.43 | 91% |
| 4536 | 2016-01-21 11:47:29 | 56.47 | 84% |
| 1688 | 2015-05-16 09:03:20 | 47.66 | 85% |
| 954 | 2015-04-17 10:16:29 | 52.28 | 93% |