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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3761 | 2017-07-03 09:49:58 | 76.59 | 96% |
| 2677 | 2017-02-02 06:42:42 | 66.24 | 93% |
| 1607 | 2016-08-30 12:47:40 | 63.71 | 93% |
| 1121 | 2016-06-18 16:25:48 | 58.32 | 93% |
| 247 | 2015-09-08 17:18:28 | 54.14 | 92% |