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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1218 | 2015-04-30 14:46:02 | 67.69 | 94% |
| 583 | 2015-04-17 09:29:58 | 61.15 | 90% |
| 254 | 2015-04-13 03:42:10 | 56.43 | 91% |
| 196 | 2015-04-12 09:53:54 | 58.26 | 93% |
| 72 | 2015-04-04 20:41:25 | 52.33 | 93% |