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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1204 | 2016-06-08 13:53:43 | 58.09 | 94% |
| 849 | 2015-06-12 01:20:02 | 59.47 | 95% |
| 734 | 2015-06-03 18:56:09 | 55.43 | 95% |
| 733 | 2015-06-03 18:54:37 | 57.16 | 96% |
| 549 | 2015-05-23 19:47:06 | 47.48 | 95% |
| 522 | 2015-05-22 01:44:38 | 53.51 | 96% |
| 357 | 2015-05-08 15:26:36 | 44.90 | 95% |