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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2369 | 2015-06-01 18:33:25 | 55.73 | 80% |
| 2128 | 2015-05-26 17:33:54 | 64.22 | 85% |
| 1848 | 2015-05-20 11:45:18 | 71.67 | 90% |
| 1717 | 2015-05-18 17:26:16 | 57.35 | 83% |
| 1647 | 2015-05-14 16:36:41 | 68.45 | 89% |
| 1097 | 2015-05-08 15:28:41 | 59.64 | 84% |
| 367 | 2015-05-04 18:40:09 | 52.93 | 80% |
| 120 | 2015-05-04 12:31:26 | 62.21 | 88% |