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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1227 | 2016-10-07 20:59:15 | 65.85 | 87% |
| 922 | 2016-07-06 19:13:26 | 64.99 | 85% |
| 713 | 2016-04-20 19:43:10 | 66.88 | 88% |
| 413 | 2016-01-18 18:35:32 | 67.36 | 89% |