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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 5144 | 2016-10-18 01:28:06 | 65.93 | 91% |
| 4212 | 2016-08-01 06:00:37 | 67.69 | 94% |
| 3802 | 2016-07-08 03:59:14 | 60.97 | 90% |
| 2605 | 2016-05-31 00:08:09 | 71.87 | 96% |
| 2120 | 2016-05-18 00:21:27 | 62.35 | 93% |
| 1803 | 2016-05-12 07:49:03 | 59.43 | 93% |
| 819 | 2016-04-21 02:49:23 | 47.00 | 88% |