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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1326 | 2016-10-11 11:49:42 | 75.55 | 94% |
| 993 | 2016-08-15 09:28:48 | 72.52 | 93% |
| 949 | 2016-08-08 11:19:00 | 64.16 | 90% |
| 151 | 2016-04-19 09:48:46 | 66.67 | 95% |
| 108 | 2016-04-15 14:09:17 | 63.73 | 92% |
| 88 | 2016-04-14 13:15:46 | 63.67 | 93% |