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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 5673 | 2015-12-10 02:24:07 | 90.01 | 99% |
| 5325 | 2015-11-05 00:03:12 | 83.09 | 99% |
| 5113 | 2015-09-17 00:01:01 | 81.69 | 99% |
| 4542 | 2015-07-13 03:21:43 | 69.36 | 98% |
| 4231 | 2015-06-29 04:04:07 | 69.29 | 97% |
| 3862 | 2015-05-11 00:36:16 | 69.93 | 94% |