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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2088 | 2017-01-05 19:57:28 | 86.25 | 95% |
| 1974 | 2017-01-04 02:52:16 | 82.89 | 96% |
| 1857 | 2016-12-01 20:16:13 | 89.92 | 96% |
| 1592 | 2016-11-11 03:47:15 | 80.58 | 95% |
| 1327 | 2016-10-29 00:19:16 | 89.61 | 97% |
| 253 | 2016-09-27 02:01:25 | 83.86 | 93% |