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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2451 | 2016-08-08 17:57:01 | 75.64 | 93% |
| 2333 | 2016-05-16 06:40:58 | 82.55 | 97% |
| 1867 | 2016-04-17 07:13:37 | 76.25 | 95% |
| 460 | 2016-02-12 18:54:11 | 73.85 | 98% |
| 418 | 2016-02-11 16:31:35 | 77.01 | 98% |