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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1489 | 2016-01-27 14:22:04 | 92.24 | 95% |
| 1169 | 2015-11-18 21:37:03 | 94.54 | 96% |
| 987 | 2015-11-08 23:49:05 | 97.84 | 97% |
| 437 | 2015-10-16 19:49:01 | 85.49 | 95% |
| 222 | 2015-09-21 16:38:34 | 91.99 | 97% |