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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1790 | 2015-11-04 16:06:31 | 73.43 | 90% |
| 1368 | 2015-10-26 18:06:50 | 64.52 | 90% |
| 931 | 2015-10-14 14:01:12 | 77.51 | 94% |
| 641 | 2015-10-06 19:53:57 | 80.83 | 96% |
| 530 | 2015-09-30 15:27:47 | 75.49 | 94% |