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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4849 | 2016-06-27 19:57:51 | 94.15 | 92% |
| 4676 | 2016-06-13 11:20:20 | 95.34 | 92% |
| 4218 | 2016-02-13 18:35:38 | 92.98 | 90% |
| 3584 | 2015-10-12 16:36:01 | 83.60 | 90% |
| 3089 | 2015-04-14 11:46:50 | 92.32 | 93% |