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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1774 | 2015-08-05 15:50:59 | 96.08 | 95% |
| 1601 | 2015-08-01 20:43:39 | 112.58 | 98% |
| 1297 | 2015-07-26 16:40:10 | 114.84 | 100% |
| 1015 | 2015-07-19 20:43:24 | 101.86 | 98% |
| 845 | 2015-07-15 05:38:20 | 96.53 | 96% |