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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1181 | 2016-01-25 20:51:26 | 95.16 | 98% |
| 1159 | 2016-01-25 18:24:30 | 84.86 | 96% |
| 975 | 2016-01-18 02:08:31 | 82.39 | 94% |
| 514 | 2015-12-30 03:44:51 | 75.25 | 95% |
| 117 | 2015-11-16 03:27:36 | 67.86 | 93% |