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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1430 | 2015-11-05 03:11:47 | 100.56 | 98% |
| 1397 | 2015-10-21 03:32:48 | 85.58 | 93% |
| 843 | 2015-06-25 20:16:14 | 85.16 | 93% |
| 708 | 2015-06-21 22:58:27 | 80.76 | 90% |