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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 9109 | 2016-08-21 05:36:24 | 112.97 | 94% |
| 8463 | 2016-07-13 01:32:08 | 115.96 | 97% |
| 6640 | 2016-03-23 04:18:48 | 110.78 | 93% |
| 6255 | 2015-12-10 02:09:43 | 103.83 | 94% |
| 5436 | 2015-10-04 03:52:23 | 121.81 | 96% |
| 5367 | 2015-10-02 03:30:22 | 122.52 | 97% |
| 1889 | 2015-08-29 04:20:13 | 112.92 | 95% |